Ice Cubes Melt Over Time
by FalseEyelashes
Summary: COMPLETED “I double check my locks at night.” Angelina keeps herself more heavily guarded than the prison of Azkaban. And now Fred is gone, leaving her with a collection of memories that she can’t help but recall.
1. Prologue

**Ice Cubes Melt Over Time**  
  
Summary: "I double check my locks at night." Angelina keeps herself more heavily guarded than the prison of Azkaban. And now Fred has left Hogwarts, leaving her with a collection of memories that she can't help but recall.   
  
Rating: R (for language and sex in future chapters)   
  
Disclaimer: I don't own the characters, the setting, or basically anything J.K. Rowling created. This story is mine, though.

_Prologue   
_  
I hate confessing secrets. Nothing good ever comes of it. I don't feel any lighter. If anything I feel heavier; heavier knowing that someone knows the truth about me. I feel panicked, nerve-wracked, ugly. Letting people in only makes me want to find a way out.   
  
I double-check my locks at night.   
  
Misty mornings on the moor and a knight without chivalry or his steed: I awoke and dreamt to each of these. I opened eyes upon a morning alone; I fell asleep to the rise and fall of him. He never woke up next to me. I convinced myself it was what I wanted. I believed it for awhile. Sometimes I still do.   
  
Charades was our game, and we alone were the champions...  
  
We were friends. Best friends. At least that's how we appeared. I was me, and he was he and that's all we'd ever be. And that's all I ever wanted.   
  
He left today. Not on a horse; instead, upon a broom. He didn't kill the dragon that threatens my every breath, or rescue me from the tower I foolishly imprisoned myself in. He saved himself and wrecked a fairy tale I had so carefully crafted. For me. To believe in.   
  
He has that way about him, that ability to ruin things. Destruction and disaster always lay in his wake. And he always walks away with that rueful grin of his. That grin that makes me ache. And makes him smile all the more.   
  
I didn't want to be destroyed.   
  
I'm sitting here, in the dark, on the couch, with a fire painting shadows across the walls. The Gryffindor common room has never been this silent. My steady breathing is all I hear. It's late. Early morning kind of late. This used to be our finest hour.   
  
Undulating hips and labored breathing; muffled groans and wandering hands; I see quick flashes in my head. Under him, lying on the couch, him panting in my ear. In his lap, purring in contentment. That adrenaline rush: the thrill of his motions, the fear of being caught. Lip caught between teeth, tongue trapped down my throat. I sit there silently, painting the mural inside my head. I trace one finger along my knee, and stop when it hits the scar. That scar. He chased me down a hallway once. I fell and scraped my knee. I forgot to put a band-aid on, and I'm left with a scar to remind me. That was six years ago. We had only just met. He had already left his mark on me.   
  
I never told him about that scar.   
  
I never told him how I like to look at it and remember. Him.   
  
"We only fucked," I murmur softly into the empty room. The sound bounces off the wall, and strikes back; the weight of my words hitting me square in the face. "It was all about sex." My voice, stronger this time, emphasizing the word _sex_. I am convincing myself, or attempting to at least. This last year has been nothing more but an animalistic mating. Nothing more. I am not hurt. I am not sad. I have no fear of being alone. I'm merely imagining the lump forming in my throat.   
  
It is then that I know I hate him. I hate Fred Weasely.   
  
It's now just me. Me, the fire, and an arsenal of memories that are attempting to knock my feet out from under me.   
  
And I think I want to fall…

A/N: This is my first time actually writing fanfiction. Let me know what you think and if I should continue on with the story. Input is greatly appreciated.


	2. Sometimes

_"Sometimes I feel so happy  
Sometimes I feel so sad  
Sometimes I feel so happy  
But mostly you just make me mad  
Baby you just make me mad…"_  
  
**Chapter One: Sometimes…**  
  
**- Sixth Year-**  
  
I have Muggle Christmas carols in my head. I have no idea as to where they had come from, but "la la la la la" was steadily thumping its way through my head.   
  
'Tis the season…  
  
The Great Hall had been decked and sprits were high. There was the usual holly and the red bows, the twinkling lights, the Christmas tree. And there was the Yule Ball, the one thing that had seemed to have consumed every mind in Hogwarts. Including my own.   
  
And I had yet to find a date.   
  
Alicia was at my side as we headed back towards the Gryffindor common room. She was jabbering on about her dress gown and how she was torn between two slightly different hairstyles. Merlin, love her, but I honestly didn't give a damn if she went with her hair fashioned as horns on top of her head. She apparently wasn't aware of this. "…and I'd have a few tendrils just kind of hanging there. You don't think that'd be too much, do you?" I gave her an indistinct grunt that she apparently took as a "no" and returned to her heavy pondering.   
  
Katie was waiting for us in our usual corner of the room. Her Transfiguration notes were lying in her lap, and a frown was crossing her lips. It quickly melted into a smile as she spied us, and promptly shut her book. Alicia launched into her oration concerning her great hairstyle dilemma. I went back to wracking my brains, fervently searching for someone I could coerce into going to that ball with me.   
  
And then I heard it…  
  
"Oi! Angelina!" Fred. Fred and his red hair. Fred and his goofy grin. Fred, calling to me from across the room.   
  
"What?" I hadn't even noticed that he had come in. And I couldn't figure out the grin on his face. He was up to no good. I knew it. He _had_ to be.   
  
"Want to come to the ball with me?"   
  
I looked him over carefully, suspiciously, imagining all kinds of nasty tricks up his sleeve. He's infamous for a reason. Fred Weasley wouldn't ask me to the ball. Not without a reason. I realized I was still looking him over, and that he was still waiting for a reply. A reply I wasn't sure I was all that ready to give.   
  
"All right then." He looked pleased, and for some reason, this made me want to laugh. I turned to Alicia, attempting not to giggle.   
  
I only grinned instead.

Fred. Fred and I. It's a convoluted tale. We once played the part as enemies, but eventually realized we got along too well for that. Ever since first year, we played off each other. He pulled the pranks, I reprimanded him. I morphed into a total bitch, he mocked me for it. I annoyed him, and he annoyed me back. I pissed him off, and I was just as angry, if not more, mere hours later. It was mutual. I wouldn't call it "love/hate." Our emotions were never that extreme. With each other.   
  
Well, maybe when we're angry…

I had to spend the whole week before the ball listening to all that inane, excited chatter enveloping me down the halls, at lunch, in the Common Room. Granted, I was excited, just not the buzzing, I'm-about-to-burst-and-explode kind.   
  
Alicia had finally stopped prattling on about hairstyles and make-up tricks. She had moved on to a far worse topic: My love life.   
  
"Ange, you know, this could very well be the beginning of something. _All_ really, really good love affairs start off as friends." She was sitting on her bed, a sugar quill hanging out of her mouth, looking like she was expecting me to jump up and down.  
  
"Funny. I always thought it was the 'star-crossed lovers' and the other horribly fated kind that resulted in the great love affairs." She hated when I was sarcastic. Even more so when I was cynical. I was just sick of hearing this. Everyday it had been the same. Everyday since Fred had asked me to the ball. Everyone was acting like it was the dawn of something new, something passionate, something long foretold.   
  
It wasn't.   
  
We were two friends going to a dance, doing each other a favor, guaranteeing ourselves a good evening. Nothing more.   
  
I was sick of telling her that. I think she was sick of hearing it.

It had been a long day. A ridiculously long day. A long day that had culminated in far too much homework.   
  
I was crabby.   
  
And he knew it.   
  
I entered the Gryffindor Common Room to find him there, sitting there, with George, whispering fervently, waving his hands all about. He looked pissed. That made me smile. I curled up in an armchair closest to the fire and opened my bag, digging around for a quill, some parchment and my Potions book. Tonight was going to suck.   
  
And there he was.   
  
I don't know how he does it. He always has this way of completely sneaking up on me. I turn away, and the second I turn back, there he is.   
  
"Hey," he said, plopping down entirely without grace into the armchair next to mine. Without waiting for a response from me, he immediately launched into a retelling of his recent scrape with Filch: "That damn cat of his must've heard me going 'round the hall, down by the Slytherins' entrance. Next thing I know…" I tuned him out. I had heard the story a thousand times, once a week for the last six years of my life. Every time it was the same: Fred had attempted something stupid, and had almost gotten caught in the process.  
  
How he had never been expelled, I will never know.   
  
"Are you even listening to me?" He was staring at me.   
  
"No." I never lied to Fred. It seemed impossible; I just didn't know how. He looked pissed. Friends are apparently supposed to listen. "Really, Fred, I think I know how this story goes." My attempt at an explanation apparently came off as me being a cold-hearted bitch.   
  
"Of course you do." Shit. I had fucked up.  
  
"It's just…Merlin, Fred, it's always the same with you." Definitely the wrong thing to say. "I mean…well…it's just…since first year, it's always been the pranks, always the war with Filch…it's just…I mean…Dammit, aren't you getting a bit old for that?" Why, why, why, why, _why_ do I always feel the need to be brutally honest?  
  
He frowned. Frowns were rare when it came to Fred Weasley. He had an infinite number of grins and smiles, chuckles and laughs. Frowns were another story. "Right." His voice was like steel. I didn't like it. "Silly Fred. Silly, Stupid, Thick-Headed Fred. I get it. Too immature for the sophisticated likes of you. 'Night, Angelina."   
  
Great. The Yule Ball was in one day and my date was severely hacked off at me.

I was staring at the mirror. My face was glowing back at me.  
  
For once, I wasn't just Angelina Johnson, Quidditch player for the Gryffindor House Team. I wasn't Miss Johnson, good student and all-around well-mannered girl. I wasn't Angelina, friend of Katie and Alicia.   
  
My brown eyes looked bigger than ever and my cheeks were flushed. I looked like the me I imagined myself as.   
  
I felt...pretty.   
  
I opened the door and descended the stairs into the Common Room. He was waiting for me. For a second, I forgot the fight we had the night before. I forgot all the shit he had pulled. I forgot how he used to trick me all the time, how he used to make me shriek with rage.   
  
Damn, he looked good.

The night was more fun than even I had expected. Apparently last night was a distant memory. Either that or he was just choosing to ignore it.   
  
We had danced, or according to some people, "caused a disturbance." My feet were aching, my mouth was dry and I hadn't had that much fun in a long time. But we kept dancing. Surprisingly, Fred was a pretty good dancer. Surprisingly and thankfully.   
  
As the night waned on, we moved closer and closer together. I didn't notice the space between us subtracting until he was right there. Up against me.   
  
Maybe it was the dancing. Maybe it was the heat and the sweat. Maybe it was the excitement of the room. But I wanted him. I wanted Fred Weasley, my best friend.   
  
His hand slid down my back, tracing the curves beneath my robes. I rubbed myself against him, not sure what I was getting myself into. He leaned in, he mouth dangerously close to mine. I waited.   
  
Nothing happened.  
  
Instead, I felt his mouth by my ear, could feel his hot breath skating across my already heated skin. "Let's get out of here." I stifled the laugh that was creeping its way up. He sounded like a Muggle movie. A cheesy one, at that. The laughter evaporated as his teeth skimmed across my ear lobe.

Somehow we made it into the hallway. I don't remember going there. My hand was tightly clenched in the fire of his, and he was practically dragging me down the halls. I didn't know where we were going. I never traveled these passageways. The portraits that lined the walls were utterly unfamiliar, and my head was already spinning.   
  
We were in the dark. We were in some obscure, dark passageway. And I was up against the wall. And he was leaning towards me. His lips were mere inches from mine; I could feel his breath filling my pores.   
  
And then he pounced.   
  
His lips were fused with mine, and his tongue was already pursuing entrance. We were tangling and gliding, fighting, like we always do. His hands were creeping up and down, his knee pressing between my legs. I kept my hands tangled in his hair, not quite comprehending what was exactly occurring. His hands were on my breasts. My hands fell to his hips. Hands, hands everywhere. Back, front, hips, ass.   
  
He lifted me up.   
  
And it was all over from there…

We had made it back to the Common Room. I could feel my hair out of place, and my dress robes just didn't feel right. My head had finally stopped spinning.   
  
The room was empty, abandoned. I had no idea what time it was. I don't think he did either.   
  
I looked at him, curious. "What just happened, back there?"  
  
"I'm pretty sure we fucked." He said it dryly, sarcastically, taking a page out of my book. I arched an eyebrow. He smirked.   
  
"This doesn't…change…anything…does it?" I asked. Not sure I wanted the answer. Fred was my friend, one of my closest friends. I didn't want to lose that. I didn't want to lose that just because we decided to take advantage of the fact that our hormones were racing.   
  
He laughed. He actually laughed. A full-on, belly-shaking laugh. "Of course not. We were just two friends who fucked. And besides," he grabbed my elbow, "I'm far too immature for you."   
  
Insufferable. Really.

_"Baby, you just make me mad…"_  
  
A/N: Song lyrics from **Pale Blue Eyes- Velvet Underground.   
**  
_Please_ keep reviewing! It makes me _super_ happy!


	3. Museum of Lovers

_"You and your museum of lovers   
The precious collection you've housed in your covers  
My simpleness threatened by my own_ _admission..._

_Wanted and adored by attractive women  
Bountiful selection at your discretion  
I know I'm diving into my own_ _destruction…"_

_  
  
_**Chapter Two: Museum of Lovers**  
  
**- Sixth Year-**   
  
There are dress robes littering the floor and Katie's snores echoing across the room, and most likely the universe. It's late. It's after. After…the fact.   
  
I fucked Fred Weasley.

Right.  
  
And now, here I am, lying in bed, with sleep still eons away, unwillingly replaying every moment through my already foggy head. And I'm sore. And I want to sleep. But I'm thinking. And thinking. And thinking.   
  
I fear I have become another notch in his bedpost.   
  
I've said it before: Fred Weasley is infamous for a reason. Yes, he has achieved infamy for the pranks he has pulled with his equally goofy twin. Yes, he's a joker, a slacker, even a grinning buffoon. But that's during the day…  
  
I've heard the tales bounce off the foggy mirrors of the bathroom, filter up from the shower stalls. "Best sex I ever had...." "…quite a lay…" "…drove me mad, and that was when we still had our clothes on…" "Left me screaming till morning…" "…never been fucked like that…"  
  
My best friend was the local Casanova.  
  
I knew all about the girls. First, there had been Marg. She had that Swedish-ski-instructor look going on: blonde, blue-eyed. Always smiling. No one home upstairs. Then there was Hannah. Dirty blonde, dirty mouth. Dirty girl. There was Jenn, the perky one, and Kat, the dangerous one. Meredith, the American, Elisa, the Spaniard. There was Emily, with her cockney accent and Nina with her seductive tones. Naomi smoked a pack a day and Rachel was flunking out. Meaghan was lost in her heavy Irish accent, and a bottle of booze each morning. Becky was Muggle-born and preached the word of God, even in the bedroom. Mia left Hogwarts two years ago, and is rumored to be a whore. Madeline tried to commit suicide after he decided he was done. Julie was always shit-faced and Carrie was a regular bitch. There was Chrissy and Carla, Sara and Samantha. Gina, Yolanda, Tara, Miranda, Gwen, Betsy, Lizzy, Beth, Elizabeth. And there were more, more without names, more with faces that just merged together into one mess of smudged mascara, heavily glossed lips and hair that had come undone. The Weasley Whores.   
  
And I had just joined their ranks.   
  
Fred didn't have relationships. He just had sex. He had lovers. I always found it ironic that the word "lover" actually has the word "love" in it. Lovers are usually just those that are sleeping together, having sex, maybe secretly. There's usually no strings attached. No relationship to speak of. No love. Just lust, carnal lust.   
  
It's always easier for the guy…  
  
I am no virgin. I might as well confess. No, I have no lengthy stream of past conquests. There are merely a handful. A handful of men, boys rather, I dated. I date and fuck. I don't "do 'em and leave 'em." I always found that a little tacky. Well, until tonight.   
  
Rob was my first. It was last year. He played Quidditch for the Ravenclaw team. He was smart. He was witty. He was quick. And he liked me. I was still a fifth year, and he was a lofty seventh year. So, we visited Hogsmeade holding hands, and occasionally talked in the halls, brief meetings after class, then the eventually frequent rendezvous in the library. Quietly, of course.   
  
I had been the inexperienced one. He knew all the ropes. My first time was in a broom closet. How quaint.   
  
We broke up soon after.   
  
Over the summer came Tom. My neighbor. I live in a Muggle neighborhood. And he, he was a Muggle. We had grown up next door to each other. We had been friends, not great friends, nothing like what Fred and I had. But we were bored. We were sixteen and bored. And the summer was hot.   
  
Use your imagination.   
  
He told me he loved me. Luckily he waited until August to tell me this. Until then I had thought that we were just doing what those cheesy Muggle '80's movies expected of us: Two friends start dating and end up shagging in the back of his father's Oldsmobile. So I lied and told him that I loved him too.   
  
I always considered him to be more of my first boyfriend. Rob never showed me affection. Tom did. We'd sit on his front porch eating popsicles. He'd kiss my neck and make me shiver. We'd lay out in the backyard with only the moon and the fireflies for company. He's whisper things to me. Things that to this day still make me blush. He was romantic.   
  
And so I broke his heart.   
  
I dumped him right before I left for the train station. Luckily I didn't have to stay in the aftermath.   
  
And this year…well, there was the seventh-year Ravenclaw (apparently I'm a real sucker for them. At least he wasn't another Quidditch player. And there were no meetings in the broom closet.). And there was the sixth-year Hufflepuff. James, I think his name was.   
  
And now Fred.   
  
He's the player, and I'm me.   
  
Was this a one-time deal? How do I look at him after seeing him...naked? Well, not completely naked...but...  
  
The sun is struggling to rise and the room is getting brighter. I haven't slept. I'll have great big circles under my eyes for company today.   
  
At least I'll fit in with his others…

- - -

_"Why do the good girls always want the bad boys?"_  
  
A/N: Song lyrics from **Bathwater - No Doubt**  
  
I love you all to pieces for reviewing! Please! Keep letting me know what you think! It makes it _that_ much more fun to write. 


	4. Ocean in Your Bedroom

_"I'm an ocean in you bedroom  
Make you feel warm  
Make you want to re-assume  
Now we know it all for sure…"_

__   
  
**Chapter Three: Ocean in Your Bedroom**  
  
**- Sixth Year -**Guilt is an ugly thing to be greeted with in the morning.   
  
Especially when much sleep hasn't been had.   
  
What the fuck have I gotten myself into?  
  
I roll out of bed, my left arm asleep and tingling. Laying on it was definitely not the best of plans. But I haven't been too good with those as of late. Plans, that is.   
  
I shuffle, reminding myself of a senile old bat. Finding my way to the bathroom, deliberately avoiding catching my own eye in the mirror. The idea just makes my stomach turn. I can't look myself in the eye. And I am supposed to see him today. I can't look at me. How can I look at him…  
  
The shower is hot. Scalding hot. Burn away the memories, burn him away. It's never that easy. Hot water and scented shampoo can only clean your body. Never your soul.   
  
I'm fucking philosophizing in the shower.   
  
---  
  
Breakfast. My least favorite meal of the day.   
  
He's sitting there. Shoving eggs down like chickens are bordering on extinction. It's revolting. He's revolting.   
  
And so am I.   
  
I sit down. And that took a whole lot more effort than I thought it would. He and his stuffed mouth are across from me. But I'm not looking at him. I'm studying my orange juice. Intently. Noticeably so.   
  
"You awake over there?" His mouth is still full. I imagine food flying out. Of his mouth. That I let touch me last night. That I touched with my own.   
  
"Hmmm." I finally look up. His eyes, no circles. His mouth, smirking. He looks the …same. He's looking at me the same. Attempting to talk to me the same. There is no problem here. For him. I'm always another story.   
  
"Merlin, Ang, you look half dead over there." I glare. I don't know what else to do. Him and his appetite are pissing me off. Him and his smile. His face. His voice. He leans in. He arches an eyebrow. Here it is. The moment I have been waiting for. "Rough night last night?"   
  
I fucking hate him.   
  
---  
  
It went on like this for a good week. Me, avoiding him. He, provoking me. He'd waggle his eyebrows at me. He'd deliberately check me out. He'd smirk. That became his specialty. Everytime I saw him, it was plastered on his freckled face: The Smirk.   
  
Other than that, things stayed strangely enough the same. Our friends still hung out together. We all still ended up in the Common Room. Still ended up sitting near each other at meals. In class. Walking down the halls. There was no Quidditch, thanks to the Triwizard Tournament, and my initial anger over that evaporated into relief. One less place to encounter him. But still. I couldn't shake him. He was always there. And if it wasn't him, then it was George. They're fucking identical twins.   
  
Of course there had to be two of him. That's just how my world goes.   
  
It's getting old though. The not talking about it. That's just me. I guess. I always have to vocalize things. Patch things up when they're feeling a little awkward. Confront someone when they're pissing me off. This was both. Angry and awkward. Not the best combination.   
  
---  
  
I found him alone one night. He was without his usual entourage. And when I say entourage, I mean Lee and George. Finding him alone is a rarity.   
  
I figured it was a sign.   
  
So I pounced.   
  
"Fred. Can we…talk? For a minute?" I swear, my heart was thumping in my throat. If only I could figure out _why._   
  
"Yeah. 'Course." He walked over. We were in the common room. It was late. I had been studying. He had been…I haven't a clue. Nothing good I'm sure. "What seems to be the problem?"   
  
Why did he have to look at me like that? That analytical thing. That thing where it feels like he can see straight into my brain and he's dissecting each and every thought, good and bad, mainly the bad, that I have ever had. I swallow. Why am I so bloody nervous? "It's just…well. Um. Right." Tongue-tied. I'm fucking tongue-tied. I am never speechless like this. Speak. Now. "About, that night. You know which night. That night. Right. Well, it's just. I've felt…since then…I just feel weird. I'm not the one-night stand kind of girl, person, lady." I just said 'lady…' "And now…I just feel weird. Funny. Around you." Nothing. "Don't you?"   
  
He smirked. For the gazillionth time. I am so sick of that bloody expression. "Nah. Mainly horny."   
  
I want to behead him. Gut him. Strangle him. Disembowel him and string his intestines around the room. I open my mouth. Then promptly close it. My thoughts…ruined. Horny? _Horny?  
_  
Merlin, I hate boys.   
  
He's amused. Greatly so. I can tell. Not that you'd have to be super intuitive or anything to discern that. I'm going to continue. Somehow. "It's just…" I need to stop starting ideas this way. "I'm not quite sure how to act…around you…and you give me these…looks…and they are completely _not_ appropriate…and….and…" Shit. Why is he inching closer? Distance closing. Not liking this. "And…I don't know what our role is…anymore…and I know…that…um…yeah…we had talked…before…and yeah, you are really fucking close right now."  
  
He laughs. I can feel his breath on my face. I can feel the heat. Of him. One step closer. He's pressed up against me. _All_ of him.   
  
"What…" I'm cut off. By him. And his mouth. His tongue. Kissing me. He nips and he groans. Pushes me against him. I can feel his hand on my lower back, his other on my thigh. Up and down, up and down. He's kissing my neck, biting the skin. Making me moan and mumble, words I don't even know. He's good. Too good.   
  
Up my shirt. Down my pants. Belts unbuckle and clothing disappears. Slightly. I'm up against a wall, with a fuzzy head and a burning desire. For him. "Someone…could…come…in…" I attempt to say. He murmurs some curse. Silencing I'm assuming. At this point I'm just concentrating on the hollow of his shoulder and how when I press my mouth there a certain way he shudders and shakes.   
  
Mouths back together. Hands on my hips, my ass. In the air. And then he's in. He's grinding and rocking, and I'm attempting to keep up. The cadence keeps quickening, my hips, no longer under my control.   
  
Panting in my ear. Pressing lips to his forehead. "Fuck…"I moan. I'm close. I know I am. So is he. I can tell. Breathy pants have morphed into masculine grunts and he's thrusting harder and harder and harder. Attempting to break me.   
  
He hits it. My peak. I'm done, spent, babbling nonsense, arching up against him.   
  
"Angelina…"he moans my name. It makes it all that much better. Knowing it's my name he cries when he comes.   
  
This really wasn't how our discussion was supposed to end.   
  
Not that I'm complaining…  
  
---  
  
From there on out, it was established between us. We were not boyfriend and girlfriend. We had no intention of ever becoming that. We were friends. Still. With, well. Benefits.   
  
We were friends with benefits.   
  
Damn good benefits at that.   
  
We kept it secret. I'm not sure why. I'm sure he didn't care one way about it. He had cemented his reputation. But me…I guess I liked being seen as more prim. More proper. Fucking your best friend just for kicks really doesn't help keep you in that area. I guess I didn't want to be known as one of his girls.   
  
I'm not easy. Despite what Fred may think.   
  
---  
  
The year continued on this way. We'd meet up randomly and have our own little shagging-session. He knew all the secret passageways, all the unknown rooms. How remains a secret between him and his carbon copy.   
  
We never did it in the Common Room again that year. Too risky. For me. Like I said, he could have cared less.   
  
We never had sex in an actual bed. It was always up against a wall. On a desk in an abandoned classroom. The bathroom. Sadly enough, a couple broom closets.   
  
We sound kinkier than we actually were.   
  
It never got old though. All the sex. And things never changed. Besides me, he saw other girls. I never asked about them. He never told me about them. I'm surprised he held onto me for as long as he did. A few months is quite the feat for him. But we weren't dating. We were boinking in broom closets. The commitment level there is really rather low.   
  
I liked having a secret. Namely this one. I felt dangerous, provocative.   
  
Alicia never knew. Katie never knew. I don't think they'd approve; least of all understand. They prescribed to pure romanticism. Roses, chocolates. Proposals on one knee. Men who swept them away and made love on a bed of satin sheets. Not the same as up against a stone wall. Slightly more comfortable.   
  
---  
  
Sixth year came to a close on a sinister and ominous note. Cedric Diggory was dead. The Dark Lord had returned. A rumor, cemented by Dumbledore.   
  
It was strange knowing that darkness loomed right outside our walls.   
  
Even stranger that next year would be our last time behind them.   
  
---  
  
The train station. I have always loved this place. The hustle, the bustle. The people coming in, the people going out. Arrivals and departures. Greetings and farewells. Every possible emotion, right there, at the train depot.   
  
Yeah. I can be a sap when I feel like it.   
  
We were back. At Platform 9 and ¾. It had been awhile.   
  
I stood there. Trunk trailing behind me, owl resting in cage. And Fred right in front of me.   
  
"See ya 'round." He nodded. And turned. And walked away.   
  
I was alone. For the summer. Back to my world. My house, my family. Waiting to begin another year.   
  
Waiting to see what comes next…  
  
---  
  
_"I'm a dancehall dirty breakbeat  
Make the snow fall  
Up from underneath your feet  
Not alone, I'll be there  
Tell me when you want to go…"_  
  
---  
  
A/N: Song lyrics from **Don't Forget Me- Red Hot Chili Peppers**  
  
Seriously, you guys rock my socks for reading this story and actually enjoying it. Well, my nonexistent socks since I'm barefoot at the moment, but you get the gist. Today, June 30, is my birthday. Make it amazing and leave me lots of presents, a.k.a. reviews. Please!   
  
And another side note: I leave for vacation July 9th which means I will be computerless for a good week and a half. I'm going to try _real_ hard to pump out a few more chapters before we leave. No promises though! 


	5. A Fresh Battery

_"And you're consuming me violently  
And your reverence shamelessly tempting me  
Who sent this maniac?  
'Cause I never had this taste in the past  
Oh you're different, different from the former  
Like a fresh battery I'm energized by you…"_

__   
  
**Chapter Four: A Fresh Battery**  
  
**- Seventh Year -**

Summer nights have chilled to almost autumn mornings. Beach bags are put away with school bags pulled out instead. The onset of fall. The promise of changing leaves and plunging temperatures. The uniform of cut-off shorts and tank tops has switched back to grey wool skirts and robes that skim the ground.   
  
I'm headed back.   
  
I never see my Hogwarts friends over the summer. They live there and I live here. It's just an established, unspoken rule between us all: I spend my summers alone. It's nothing offensive. Really. It's not.   
  
And this summer was no different.   
  
I spent the summer peacefully enough in my Muggle neighborhood. I worked as a lifeguard at the local pool. Minimum wage wasn't nearly close to worth it. I spent nights alone on the porch. The air conditioning choosing not to work and the only place to feel the breeze was on the swing, hanging off its rusty chain by the lilac bushes. They always make me sneeze. I sit there anyway.   
  
It's night. Of course. And lying in bed next to the open window, I wait. Wait for my alarm clock to unnecessarily ring because I'll already be awake. Wait for the sun to rise and carry me back. Back to the place that has been more of a home to me than these poorly constructed walls ever have been. I don't like to talk about my family. I don't like to think about it. And I'm not about to start now.   
  
Instead I'll just flip the channel back. To him. I've wondered about him all summer. All summer, questioning myself as to what this year will be for the two of us. And I really don't know. Do we pick up where we left off? Do we charge off into a far more innocent and platonic direction? Or do we drift apart? The lack of communication between the two of us really didn't help my fucked up version of Q and A. That I shared only with myself.   
  
We've never been real good with the whole "communicating our feelings" aspect of our friendship. We were good with the jokes, the sarcastic quips. The friendly jibes and digs and the even friendlier flirtations. But feelings…always taboo. Another unspoken rule. One I didn't really appreciate. Or had thought about.   
  
Until now.   
  
- - -  
  
Back at 9 and ¾. My parents never cross the barrier with me. They feel, and I quote, that "it's not their place." Of course not. Wizards have nothing in common with hotel receptionists and cable repairmen.   
  
I spy Alicia with skin far darker and Katie with hair far lighter across the way. Merlin, I didn't realize how much I had missed them.   
  
But sometimes. Well, sometimes I feel like the third wheel with them. And now was no exception.   
  
"He was to _die_ for!" Katie squealed. I didn't ask. I didn't have to. I got an earful as we boarded the train about the love of her life that she had met while spending her summer vacationing in the Riviera. And I had spent mine by the pool checking the chlorine levels.   
  
Whatever.   
  
"How about you, Alicia? How's the summer been?" I was desperate to change the subject. Jealousy is not one of my favorite emotions.   
  
I wish I hadn't.   
  
"Well, it's been good. I spent most of it hanging out with George." George. Brother of Fred. "And well, Fred obviously too. It was fun." I felt hollow, empty. Angry, bitter, resentful. I felt left out. And sad. I spent a summer among Muggles. She spent it with him.   
  
What the fuck am I saying?   
  
I shake my head, convinced I have gone completely loopy over the course of five minutes.   
  
They ask me about my summer.  
  
I smile. It's easier than explaining what a summer filled with "nothing" is actually all about.   
  
- - -  
  
The train clipped along, and Alicia, Katie and I sat alone in our little car. We gossiped. We ate more chocolate frogs than thought possible. We gossiped.   
  
The train bit through fog and wound around curves. Lights flickered on and first years chattered nervously, desperate to make a friend or two before arrival.   
  
I remember being them once. I had no friends. Nada. Zero. Zilch. I was the Muggle-born who had somehow been invited to attend the school.   
  
Why my parents agreed to let me go is beyond me…  
  
I ran into Fred on the train. Literally. He knocked me down. I yelled at him. Friends ever since.   
  
Someone has to be able to take his shit.   
  
Didn't know that it would be me.  
  
- - -  
  
And we're there. The horseless carriages all in a row. Like a bizarre version of _Cinderella_. Only this time we all get to be the princess.   
  
Yeah. That train ride definitely left me more than a little loopy.   
  
We ride up to the castle. I love this place. There's just the right amount of fog surrounding the walls, inching its way up. I can see my breath in the carriage and realize just how cold it had gotten. The place glows gold, spilling warmth out from each its windows.   
  
It's magic. It really is.   
  
The Great Hall. Floating candles and long, polished tables. Dumbledore sitting way up high, students chatting down the aisle.   
  
I am home.   
  
We take our seats. Katie and Alicia are still yipping away, a mile a minute. I must appear sullen against them. I'm not. Just not as animated as they are tonight. So I just smile, taking it all in. Pretending to play along.   
  
It's just easier.   
  
- - -  
  
There's the Sorting Hat extravaganza and the usual greeting speech from Dumbledore, punctuated with an interruption from Professor Umbridge. I know I'll hate her. I can just tell. Fake as the smile that all too often bestows my own lips.   
  
We're fed and eventually dismissed.   
  
We climb the stairs and say the password and enter our little sanctuary. The Common Room. Still the same. I breathe a sigh of relief. I always fear that things will change the second I am gone. I'm not disappointed. This time.   
  
We unpack. Quickly. At least for me. And I decide it's time to wander.   
  
Wandering alone at night can only lead to one thing. Trouble.   
  
- - -  
  
I amble and rove, meander and roam. All footpaths I've treaded before. All portraits that have gazed down at me times now gone by. It's familiar. It's comfort. It's a peace of mind.   
  
I turn a corner. And someone grabs my arm. Hard. And pulls me in.   
  
To the girls' bathroom.   
  
"What the bloody hell do you think…" A hand is clamped over my mouth.   
  
"Merlin. If you're any louder maybe then you'll wake up the whole fucking school." It's Fred. Who else. Who else drags girls into abandoned restrooms? "So. Moonlight stroll?"  
  
"Something like that." I gaze at him. He looks the same. A little frecklier. Probably from the sun. Still the same smiling eyes. Still the same grinning lips. Wow, I have missed him. More than I had even thought. "I didn't see you on the train." I say it cautiously, as though testing the waters. Why the careful behavior, I'm not quite sure. "Or at dinner."   
  
"Didn't know you were looking for me." The smirk has returned. "I was there." As if that's the answer to everything.   
  
We just stand there. My reflection staring back at me from the mirror behind his shoulder. It's a long pause. I thought absence was supposed to make the heart grow fonder. Hardly. Rather, the situation more awkward.   
  
"So…" Yeah, he feels it too. The awkwardness. The tension. Sexual and otherwise.   
  
"So…" I've apparently become a parrot. Mimicking his every action.   
  
"Good summer?"   
  
"Um. Sure. You?"   
  
"Yeah."   
  
"Good."   
  
And we stand there. I can feel the minutes ticking by, the earth rotating on its axis. My fingernails growing, my life shortening. Someone needs to say something. It'll probably be me.   
  
"I've missed you." I say it quietly. Kind of wishing he hadn't heard it.   
  
"Yeah. I've missed you too." He says it the way a person would say "Yeah, the weather has been nice." A trivial matter. Carelessly. Without thought or actual consideration.   
  
So I smile like the idiot I am so good at being.   
  
When did things get so weird, so awkward? So funny between the two of us?   
  
"Yeah…" He ways it breathlessly. Answering a question that was never asked, except for maybe in his own head, going unheard by me. He looks at me. Studies me. Makes me have to turn away. I hear him inhale. And realize that I have been holding my breath.   
  
And it all begins again.   
  
He kisses me. Teasingly and painfully. Tempting me, dragging me out of the shell I've been hiding in since June. Soft, sweet, frighteningly slow kisses. Kisses that make the world stand on end, that make me want to melt, melt, melt, melt into the ground. And never come back. Kisses that he's never given to me before.  
  
But he all too soon hits the accelerator. And we're off. Tongues invading and hands retracing routes that have gone unvisited by the two of us for what seems now like far too long. He feels good and tastes even better. I want to scream and jump and cartwheel. Wave sparklers in the sky. Light the way for him to follow.   
  
My ass hits the sink, and suddenly I'm sitting in it. Not that it matters. At this point I'd do it anywhere. Including the kitchen sink. Or in this case, bathroom.   
  
He's bent on teasing me tonight. Bent on making me beg and whimper and plead for him. And I do. All the above.   
  
And it's different this time. I feel it. He slides in, and I'm gone. Seeing stars and screaming shouting screaming shouting screaming. For him. There's something here. Something ignited. There's more spark, more adrenaline, more fuel to light my flame. My torch.   
  
I'm going to get burned.   
  
But at this heat is just feels too damn good.  
  
And I haven't a fucking clue as to where any of this is coming from.   
  
- - -  
  
Our pace: intensified. Our caution: obliterated.   
  
We lost our sense of heed, our sense of regard. We were back in the Common Room, shagging on the couch that people use to study. I'd sneak into his room, and he into mine. Outside, inside. Hallways, classrooms. Didn't matter. Didn't matter when, didn't matter where. Anytime, anywhere. We were risky, silly, dicey. Throwing caution to the wind. Laughing in the face of danger.  
  
Acting like the hormonal driven fools we were. That we had become.   
  
I let him turn me into a sex addict.   
  
- - -   
  
_"Why am I so curious?  
This territory is dangerous  
I'll probably end up back at the start  
I'll be back in line with my broken heart…"_  
  
- - -  
  
A/N: Song lyrics from **New- No Doubt.   
**  
Yeah. I know. Another No Doubt song. They just all seem to strangely fit my stories. I'm sure there will be more to come. I did a first for me: actually drafted this story. The way I see it, there should be about 13 more chapters to finish out this story. Give or take a few. But, please, I beg of, keep reviewing! It gives me _fantastic_ motivation and a reason to write!!! I love you all to pieces!!!


	6. Bottled Fizzy Water

_"I am bottled fizzy water and you are shaking me up.  
You are a fingernail running down the chalkboard  
I thought I left in third grade…"_

__  
  
**Chapter Five: Bottled Fizzy Water**  
  
**- Seventh Year -**  
  
Somewhere along the way, responsibility weaseled its way into my life.  
  
I'm captain of the Quidditch team.  
  
And I'm counting and cursing my bloody lucky stars.   
  
I love Quidditch; I'm so passionate about that damn sport. It's always come easy to me. The flying, all that hand-eye coordination pizzazz. Madam Hooch once called me "a natural flyer." And isn't that the truth. I never practiced at home, during breaks, over the summers. I don't think the neighbors would have appreciated it much. Flying brooms aren't all that common in Muggle neighborhoods.   
  
But here I was. Captain. And I had big shoes to fill. Metaphorically speaking. Oliver Wood. Adored by many, resented by few. Good guy, good captain. And I get to be the one to follow his act up. I'm nervous and excited and I have a feeling the butterflies flitting through my middle will be inhabiting my stomach for the rest of the year.   
  
But I love the team. Soaring around with Katie and Alicia has always been fun. In the sky our differences don't exist. We're a team, together, one. We used to sneak out to the Quidditch pitch with Fred, George and Lee when we were fourth years. Just to fly around at night. Just us and the stars. And the eternal fear of being caught.   
  
We never were. Caught, that is.  
  
- - -  
  
The handle on the locker dug into my back as Fred pushed me harder against it, murmuring some unintelligible language into my ear.   
  
The locker room had become our most recent playground. Always quiet, always abandoned. Once practice was over there really was no reason to dwell in there.   
  
We had a reason.   
  
He was biting my earlobe and muttering my name over and over again. "Angelina, Ang-el-ina…" My name was growing by the second, the syllables drawn out longer and longer until "Angelina" wasn't my name anymore but a mantra and a moan escaping his lips.   
  
I arched my back, banging my head on steel of the locker door. My head was spinning off its axis now, seeing stars and feeling altogether cartoonish.   
  
I loved this: feeling rather than thinking. Letting my senses overwhelm me until I was a pile of mush waiting to be molded. By him. Waiting to melt through his hands and fall to the floor.   
  
He didn't disappoint.   
  
His maddening pace never faltered and there was never the slightest sense of hesitation. He just kept going going going going. Taking me along with him. For the ride.   
  
He put me on fire and sent shivers down my spine. Made me keen and made me swoon. Sigh, scream, ache, pulse. He made me want to fly. And I loved him for that.  
  
I didn't mean that.   
  
Oh, fuck…  
  
- - -  
  
History of Magic has to be the most boring thing ever. Sitting at the long table in the Great Hall, staring at parchments of notes, the words refusing to gel, to make sense. I read the same sentence pertaining to goblins six times before I realized that I was no longer literate.   
  
My thoughts were elsewhere. Wandering into places I thought I had kept under heavy lockdown.   
  
Lee plopped down across from me. "Hullo, Angel." He always called me that. And I still haven't found a way to get him to quit.   
  
The whole gang was here. Goblins, be damned.   
  
And then I felt it. A hand on my shoulder.   
  
His hand.   
  
He might as well have been shagging me right there, fucking me right on the table. He was scorching my skin and I was going to fly apart. And there'd be one hell of a mess to clean up. One touch and I'm rearing to go.   
  
I'm not thinking straight. I feel warm and clammy; I'm shivering and shaking. He really needs to move his hand.   
  
Get a hold of yourself. Yes. You. Now.   
  
And they're all talking. About Umbridge and methods of torture. But I'm still curious, confused and thinking. And frightened. All he did was touch me and I was practically orgasmic. That's not normal. Or right. Or supposed to happen. It was a hand. Albeit his hand, but a hand. On my shoulder. That's buried beneath layers of clothing. Didn't matter. He was doing funny things to me. Making me salivate over him at breakfast. Recap our latest tryst when I should be taking notes. He was consuming me, body and mind. And I just didn't understand why…  
  
I look up and realize that he is now across from me. I didn't even realize he had moved. And he's gazing at me, with a slight smile brushing his lips. I can see the curiosity in his eyes, see the question forming on his lips. I probably looked drugged over here, or as though I was pondering the questions of the universe. Hey, for all I cared, I was.   
  
So I flee. Out of necessity, maybe out of embarrassment. I don't want him to know I was thinking. About him.   
  
- - -  
  
He won't leave me alone. I turn my head, he's there. I go upstairs, he's there. I close my eyes, he's there. He's chasing me and haunting me and he hasn't the slightest fucking clue. What he does to me.   
  
I don't have a clue either. As to what is exactly occurring. Last I checked, the two of us were friends. Close friends, albeit, but friends nonetheless. We were friends having sex. Spectacular, fireworks-worthy, knee-melting, heart-stopping, cardiac-arrest-inducing sex.   
  
Maybe it's just chemistry. Romantic chemistry. No. Sexual chemistry. We've got the right ingredients for each other, and when we come together…boom!   
  
No, I don't like the sounds of that.   
  
- - -  
  
Quidditch plans in hand I head outside. I like working outside better than in. Helps me think better. Or so I believe.  
  
I find a tree and have a seat beneath its branches, staring at silly diagrams and even sillier names. They take the path History of Magic took and cease to make clear sense to me. Thoughts are drifting and mind is clouding.   
  
And a shadow falls over me.   
  
I look up, knowing already who it is. And I'm right.   
  
"G'day, Captain!" He salutes and has this wry, completely goofy smile lighting up his face. It makes me grin like a maniac, bordering on hysteria.   
  
And it really wasn't all that funny. But between the comical salute, the smile, the words…it makes me smile. Crazily.   
  
He takes a seat next to me and peers over my shoulder. "Hmmm." I turn towards him. He's studying the circles and squares that decorate the paper in front of me. "Lovely artwork you've got here. I'm guessing Late Renaissance." I laugh. This is the way things are supposed to be. The way they used to be. Our silly companionship.   
  
"What brings you out here?" It's a sunny afternoon in early fall. Normally he'd be racing around with George at his heels and Lee even farther back, up to their old tricks, making Filch wish he had chosen a different occupation.   
  
He grimaces. "Well, we were testing our…Nevermind. It ended with a bang. Figured we should split up. Harder to blame that way." He winks. He will forever be ten years old.   
  
And we stayed there, under that tree on that autumn day. We stayed there the rest of the afternoon. Talking. Laughing. Joking around. We had traveled back in time. I couldn't even remember the last time we had just sat and talked. Sat and were just Angelina and Fred.   
  
I liked his company. I liked when he talked to me. Told me his plans. Cracked his jokes. Retold stories I had heard thousands of times but never ceased to amuse me.   
  
Dinner came all too soon for me.  
  
- - -   
  
Lying in bed. Trying to spy patterns on the ceiling. I think I found a heart. Merlin, what the fuck is wrong with me?   
  
Fred is my friend. My friend, my friend, _my friend._   
  
It doesn't help that he's lying there next to me. Asleep. In my bed. The curtains are pulled shut leaving us in a canopy of darkness. I can just make out the planes of his back; he's turned away from me. And I want to touch him and draw my world across his skin and make him ask the same things I have been questioning.   
  
I want him to feel. Like I feel.   
  
**No.** I don't. He's a friend. Friend friend friend friend friend friend **_friend._**   
  
But he makes me feel dizzy and light-headed just by looking at me. I hear my heart as loud as hoof beats everytime he's around. He makes me think thoughts and feel things that I have labeled as "wrong."   
  
And I'm terrified to ask myself the one question I have been avoiding this entire time: Why?   
  
I'm afraid I know the answer. That I've hidden it deep within me, and I fear it will rear its ugly head and consume me. The way he's trying to consume me.   
  
The way he already has…  
  
**No.**   
  
I wake up alone.   
  
- - -  
  
We're together again. In our usual haunt: the locker room after practice.   
  
I don't ask him my questions. I don't confront my fears. Rather, I just fuck his brains out in a vain attempt. To forget. Forget the answers I feel swelling within me. Forget him.   
  
But I'm already on my knees for him…  
  
- - -  
  
_"Now my only consolation is that this could not  
last forever…  
  
Yeah, it's just a phase…"_  
  
- - -  
  
A/N: Song lyrics from **Just a Phase- Incubus.**   
  
I leave you this parting gift as I head off for vacation! I'll be back sometime in mid-July. Make my world and leave me some _reviews!!!_


	7. Counterfeit Disposition

_"Can you tell I'm faking it?   
But I want to be myself  
A counterfeit disposition  
Can't be good for my health…"_

__  
  
**Chapter Six: Counterfeit Disposition**  
  
**- Seventh Year -**

There's this pond, down the road and around the corner from my house. It's sad and neglected; the surrounding land overrun by weeds and litter. The pond itself has gradually developed into this murky and festering cesspool. Filled with algae and muck and most likely disease, turning it into a putrid shade of deep brown. I used to think how terrible it would be to fall in. Not only was it disgusting, but the water, if you can even call it that, was so dark there was no discerning its depths. All around you would be just darkness, an enveloping darkness, too dense to see through. Stuck in the middle. And not sure how far off the surface is or how close you've come to hitting rock bottom.   
  
I think I've fallen in. With Fred.   
  
And I can't find him and he can't find me. If he's even looking.

I don't know where I stand anymore.   
  
- - -   
  
I don't think I've ever actually been in love. There have been mutual attractions. Struggling commitments. Tempestuous lusts. Boiling tempers. But never love.   
  
I've never been a walking Valentine.   
  
But now…I've got this tingly feeling that races down my spine and my heart is beating loud enough to shake the earth and my mouth can't form words and I think thoughts that would never appear in a children's story and it's all because…well, of him.   
  
It's not love. It's a disastrous head cold, hormones on speed. A detrimental heart condition. My loneliness getting the better of me. Causing me to hallucinate. And imagine. And dream. And hope.   
  
A few minutes ago, Katie practically forced a Hufflepuff seventh year on me. She believes I'm still going through a "dry spell" and she's attempting to do her part to cure me. She still has no idea. What's really going on. But I was polite. Charming. Witty. Flashed a smile, batted my eyelashes. All that flirtatious shit. I was composed and in control.   
  
With him it's another story.   
  
I'm a puddle at his feet he doesn't realize he's splashing in. I'm lying in wait, teeming with desire and a pinch of something else. He's bubbling over with excitement and frothing along the edges with pride. I'm anxious, nervous. White-knuckled. He's a breeze on a sunny summer morning.   
  
And I see him now.   
  
He's across the way. In the Great Hall. Talking to a pretty blonde. No name. No shame. Tiny waist. Perfect hair. Me: Tall and angular. Hip bones jutting out, shoulder blades, protruding. She: Curvy and petite. Round in all the right places.  
  
I hate her. I fucking hate her.   
  
His hand is inching towards her ass. And I hurt.   
  
And I hate myself for that.   
  
- - -  
  
Dinner that night is no better. Katie sits there next to me, singing the praises of Mr. Hufflepuff, whose name escapes my memory. According to her, he's perfect for me. The usual: smart funny good-lucking nice. The generic attributes just about any conscious man could possess.   
  
I tune her out. I idly finger the spoon before me. I bounce it back and forth like a see-saw, imagining I can see the future reflected off its cloudy surface. I can't. The spoon never leaves my fingers. I stare. And sit there. Playing with the spoon. The spoon who just longs to be paired with the butcher knife, but is instead stuck being paired with the muted cutlery it shares a napkin with. I feel your pain.   
  
Oh fuck. I'm making up stories involving flatware.   
  
Katie's still talking, but Alicia's still listening. Nodding her head attentively. All the audience she needs. And he's there. Filling Lee in on his latest conquest: the blonde he fucked last night. And later toyed with. In front of me. And I want to cry into my pea-soup and chuck biscuits at his head. Bounce forks off his freckled face. Run until my knees give out.   
  
And I can hear him, words traveling through my ears. Words I never want to hear from him when pertaining to another. And it hurts more than it should. It hurts, hurts, hurts too much.   
  
The green-eyed monster is wiping the floor with my ass.   
  
I need to come up for air.   
  
And my mind is fighting and struggling and kicking. I can feel the confession, the admission, forming. Deep within me. It's all clear. Too clear. Right there, as I continue to be ripped to shreds at the dinner table. 

But I refuse to say those words. Even if they're only uttered in my head.

I don't want to be those other girls. I don't want those other girls to exist. I want them to poof off in a cloud of hairspray and never return. I don't want things to be just about sex, void of any meaning. I want to be me and I want him to be him. And I want to be the only one.   
  
I want us to be together.   
  
- - -  
  
They say that in order to truly love someone you must first pour your soul out and reveal everything there is to know about yourself. And I've always wondered, what exactly does that mean? To reveal everything. Does it mean admitting that sappy movies can make your eyes tear up and contrary to popular belief you do actually cry on occasion? Does it mean confessing that you hog the covers and have ugly feet and never seem to remember to put the cap on the toothpaste? That you bite your nails and can't carry a tune? That you hate to shave your legs, and some days, you don't even bother at all? Or…does it mean allowing someone to see you at your very lowest, see you red-eyed and snot-nosed, releasing a treasure trove of loot you've even kept buried from yourself? Or is it all a joke? A Hallmark card, a needlepoint saying?   
  
They say a lot of things.   
  
I wonder if half of them are true…  
  
- - -  
  
Next to my bed is a vase of flowers. In front of an open window. Their petals shake as the cold air bites.   
  
White petals in a white vase. Alicia says they're "daisy mums." I don't really give a fuck.   
  
They look perfect. Swaying in the wind. Perfect.   
  
I tip the vase over and wait for the splash, and then the crash. It happens. Painting a beautiful mosaic on the hardwood floors, shiny despite their age. Scattered petals, abandoned stems. Cold, wet puddles. Shattered porcelain.   
  
Just as quickly as it fell, the pieces are all reassembled. Vase back on table. Water back in vase. Flowers back in water.   
  
Perfect as a picture all over again.   
  
I slam the window shut and pull the covers over my head.

I wish I could say I felt better.  
  
- - -  
  
I'm scared. Admitting the truth to yourself has that effect. Fear. Mind-numbing, teeth-chattering fear. I'm scared of what comes next.  
  
Once you've admitted something to yourself, it's only a matter of time before you confess it to another.   
  
And I'm not ready for that yet.   
  
Owning up to my emotions is something I have always failed at. Putting myself out there, on that proverbial line, goes against my creed. I lie and deny; refute and refuse. It's called self-preservation. And I have been preserved. Like a jar of jelly. Strawberry, maybe blueberry. I'm collecting dust in a cellar somewhere, waiting to be taken out. Letting the seasons pass. Attempting to stay fresh inside.   
  
And I wonder why I've never been in love.   
  
I have been lying and denying, refuting and refusing for so long now, the truth is foreign and fuzzy to me. It's that waking up to sunlight feeling. Where you have to shield your eyes because it hurts too much to look. I've tried to keep them closed. I've tried to hide myself, keep the real me under wraps. I'm a different me for a different person. I can be smart and ace the test. I can run and jump and kick your ass. Soar through the air and score the goal. Lead the troops to victory, or just the team to a win. I can listen and I can gab. I can smile and I can flirt. I can be whatever you want me to be.  
  
But what am I to him?   
  
Somehow he's become the one that matters…  
  
He scares me though. I'm afraid to be honest; I'm afraid to be open. I'm afraid to spill my guts and let him see and let him judge every fucked-up insecurity and eccentricity I possess.   
  
I'm afraid to go after what I want.   
  
Him. The one lying next to me. Chest rising and falling as the night rolls on.   
  
And I want him. More than anything. And a part of me feels free from admitting this. It makes me feel light, like I'm dancing on tip-toe, grazing over the ground. I want him to feel. I want him to want, to care. I want him to…

I can see his profile in the dark. His nose, his lips, his chin. I can feel the heat emanating off his body, hear the air go in and out. Feel him tense and shift his weight. Feel him. There. Next to me.   
  
All of this…is becoming too much to ignore.   
  
- - -  
  
_"If you bore me then I'm comfortable  
If you interest me I'm scared  
My attraction paralyzes me  
No courage to show my true colors that exist  
But I want to be the real thing…"_  
  
- - -

A/N: Song lyrics from **Magic's in the Make-up- No Doubt**  
  
I'm back! After a glorious week at the beach, I am back here. Behind the computer. I apologize for the wait, and well, this story really didn't have too much "plot-action" to speak of. More of a "stream-of-conscious" kind of thing. But I am rambling, and hope that you enjoy this installment, and I will attempt to get another out soon! Please review!


	8. Just a Little Boy

_"I said, 'Honey, I don't feel so good, don't feel justified  
Come on put a little love here in my void,' - he said  
'It's all in your head,' and I said, 'So's everything' -  
But he didn't get it…"_

_   
  
_  
**Chapter Seven: Just a Little Boy  
  
- Seventh Year -**  
  
We all have our breaking points. The brink we reach when we're just about to crack. Crumble. Confess.   
  
I think I'm closing in on mine…  
  
- - -  
  
I'm wading through mud. Traveling through what was once grass. Out to the Quidditch pitch. _Squish. Squish._ My feet embedded in the earth. Staining my shoes brown. My robes skate over the dirty floor. Dragging the path along with me.   
  
We're practicing again. Thank Merlin I'm the bloody captain. It's one more thing to take my mind of it. Him.   
  
I've become a walking cliché. And I berate myself over that.   
  
The team stands there. Waiting for me. I tell them to fly a few laps, and hover underneath them all.   
  
I watch him fly through the air, robes reaching out behind him, a canopy in the sky. And he floats and he dances, weaving above me. And I want him to fall. Come back down to earth. Prove that he too can be broken. In half. Into pieces. Prove that he's not made of stone, and when hit just the right way, he too will shatter.   
  
He just keeps on flying.   
  
Time flies and the sun falls down. Dusk swallows the pitch and I reluctantly send them in. My heart's not in it anyway.   
  
He walks away. Laughing. Tossing his head back. And I wish I knew what was so funny. I wish I was right there next to him. But I'm not. I'm here.   
  
I let myself fall onto the bench. Staring at my mud covered shoes and robes. I'm a fucking spectacle.   
  
I can't keep doing this. Tearing myself up every time I see him. Letting my mind wander into forbidden territories.   
  
I feel like I'm breaking.   
  
I place my fingers over my eyes. Covering them. Hiding behind them. Gazing out through the cracks. Imagining I can fill them in. With his magic marker.   
  
I round my back and let my shoulders slump, curling right over. Face still buried in my palms.   
  
It's too much. Too fucking much for me to handle.   
  
- - -  
  
"Shit, Ange…" He's murmuring in my ear, breath splaying across the skin. Fogging up my brain. Hands digging in my hips, anchoring me in place. I'm not going anywhere. I won't drift off to sea... And I'm clawing and I'm scratching, digging dull nails beneath the skin. Marking him as mine. Even if it's only temporary.   
  
It's late. We're in my bed. Curtains are sealed shut, a silencing spell envelopes the bed. The mattress squeaking. Making this all the more sordid for me. Head sinking in pillow. Emotions threatening to strangle me.   
  
I'm living a lie.   
  
All I can think as he grunts and he thrusts, into and out of me, are of the others. The girls he'll go and fuck once he's through with me. And how he'll return to me for more. Because, as he told me once, "we have the best bloody sex ever."   
  
How romantic.  
  
I can't pay attention, attention to him, his actions, his voice. I'm tangled up with him and my thoughts and my fears and anguishes that are battling to phase him out.   
  
Get in the moment. He's fucking you. He's in you. Get in the fucking moment.   
  
I make the mistake of looking at his face. And then promptly wish to die.  
  
Cheeks flushed to match his hair. Sweat glistening on his brow. Mouth open, panting. Eyes on me. All on me. Just me.   
  
And I want him and need him and can't have him but I have to and I want need love…Love.   
  
Just love me. Don't fuck me. Love me. Love me love me love me love me love me love me love me. Words beating through my head to the cadence of his hips. Love me.   
  
Those eyes. Blue. Glistening. Sparkling. Locked deep within my own. And I can't take it anymore. Those eyes. He sees me. He sees _me_. I see him. I can't can't can't can't. Not anymore.   
  
It's harder and faster. Louder. Creaking mattress deafening in my skull.   
  
I can't breathe can't think can't move can't breathe and it's too much and it hurts hurts me…I can't…  
  
And I'm there and I'm falling and spiraling my way out of control.   
  
"I love…"I freeze mid-moan. Horror-struck by what was about to be said. "This."   
  
I want to hang my head in shame. But he's still on top of me.   
  
Bloody coward.  
  
- - -   
  
I pace my room. Traveling the same route over and over and over again. To the door. And to the window. Door window door window. Imagining I'm burning a hole through the rug and scorching the floor beneath.   
  
Cheeks are burning, fists are clenched. Nails making half-moon designs in the palm of my hand. They sting.   
  
I'm seeing red. Spitting bullets. Bubbling over with a rage that's proving difficult to suppress.   
  
I don't think I've ever hated someone this much.  
  
Umbridge. That fucking waste of a woman. Her and her stupid "High Inquisitor" bullshit. Fuck her. Fuck the Ministry. Fuck him.   
  
The shit hit the fan today on the Quidditch pitch.   
  
Malfoy had to go attack the Weasley clan. He couldn't keep his bloody mouth shut. And they couldn't control their fucking tempers.   
  
I tried to restrain him. Alicia and Katie had to help. He's scary when he's angry. He's scary when he's serious. His mouth sets into this impregnable firm line. His eyes glint, his face pales, freckles more noticeable than ever; his nostrils flare. He's a bull ready to charge. I came close to being run down.   
  
Harry, George and Fred are off the team. For good.   
  
Now not only are we royally screwed when it comes to the actually playing of the sport, but any desire I had to be captain, to be Chaser, to fly over the field has been extinguished.   
  
I can't do it without him. I can't do it without him flying there next to me. Making goofy faces. Running into things on purpose. Flipping off the Slytherins. Tightening his jaw, face falling into a frown as he lets the bat slam into the Bludger. Screaming when we win.   
  
It's our last year. And we can't even finish it together.   
  
I don't know who I'm angrier at. Umbridge. Malfoy. Or him.   
  
- - -  
  
I don't go down to dinner. I made the mistake of entering the Common Room and had to hear all their pleas of sympathy. It was like a fucking wake. Apparently losing almost half your team to a blatantly unfair totalitarian authority figure makes you a charity case.   
  
Fifteen minutes of that was enough for me. I don't think I could make it through dinner.   
  
Besides. He'd be there. And at this point I'm torn between love and hate.   
  
- - -  
  
I lie on my bed. Studying. Or trying to. Damn N.E.W.T.'s.   
  
There's a knock at the door. I'm alone. And rise to answer it. Not sure what happened to my roommates. I make my way to the door. Stepping over day-old robes and fashion magazines. Pictures still in motion. The girls winking and grinning up at me. I deliberately step on one.   
  
I turn the knob. It's him.   
  
"Hey…" He says it softly. Afraid he may disturb me. Offend me somehow. Set me off like the firecracker he knows I can be. Reminds me of the zoo. How you have to be careful around the bears. Tip-toe. Quietly. Voices low.   
  
And I just nod.   
  
"I'm sorry."

He's apologizing. If there's one thing Fred Weasley doesn't believe in, it's an apology. He never says he's sorry. Even when it's his own fault.   
  
I look at him. And believe him, wondering how I merited these words from him. And I'm not sure what to say. I've never seen him look so sorry.  
  
I never want to see him look this sorry again.   
  
"Okay." He smiles. Apology accepted.   
  
His smile widens into a wicked grin. "Let's go raid the kitchen."   
  
- - -  
  
We're wandering back. Back to the Gryffindor Tower. Back, back, back. Clip-clop. Our shoes are noisy._ Really_ noisy. And funny sounding. Clip-clop. We sound like ponies.  
  
We found some fire-whiskey in the kitchen. I think it's safe to say I had a little too much.   
  
I basically can't walk straight and everything is spinning around me like a crazy carousel. But he's next to me. So we can stay on for a little bit longer.   
  
I can feel the liquor coursing through my veins. Burning me the way he does. Leaving fire in its path. My head is swimming and sometimes I see spots. I am so bloody drunk. And I don't care. I don't care I don't care I don't care.  
  
And then my shoulder is met by the wall. And it hurts a little. I hear someone laughing. And feel that someone grabbing my arm. He drags me over, saying something. I'm distracted by that mouth of his though.   
  
Then I'm sitting on stone steps. And they're cold. Making my ass numb. I see him sit down too. Down on the stone stairs. With him, they become a royal throne. And I have no plans to abdicate.  
  
I don't remember walking out here. I hiccup. And giggle. Still clutching the bottle as though it's my anchor. Buoying me in place.   
  
I hear a snort next to me. I turn my head too fast and there are so many of him. It's like looking through those kaleidoscope thingies. I had one as a kid. Mine showed blue and red sparkles and hearts. It was the kind of thing I'd call "magical" having no concept whatsoever as to what magic actually is.   
  
And he's there. A little blurry along the edges. But next to me. Shaking his head. Amused. And so perfect. The moonlight makes him glow and causes me to shiver.   
  
I have to tell him. Now or never. I have to. Even though my brain has been turned to mush. He has to know. What's the worst that can happen?  
  
I down another gulp. Letting it burn its way down my throat. They call it courage…kid.   
  
I place my hand on his arm. "Fred." My voice sounds unnaturally loud. Even to my ears. "Fred. Fred Fred Fred Fred Fre-e-e-ed." I've got this sing-song thing going on. And I don't know what I'm saying. I do know that he looks like he is about to crack up. That smile of his is trying to take over the world. Or at least his face. "Fred. I must tell you something. Something so-o-o-o-o important." I take a deep breath. The breath before the plunge. Why am I doing this again?

"I love you."   
  
I've said it.   
  
"I love you I love you I love you-u-u-u!" And then we're both quiet. Too quiet. Me with the expectant gleam in my eye. And him looking…terrified. And shocked. And scared. And terrified. I think I already said that.   
  
All I hear is me. Breathing.   
  
This really wasn't how I thought this would turn out…How did I think this would turn out?   
  
Oh fuck. Shit. Bloody hell. Oh, Merlin, Jesus, Buddha, _God_…somebody _save_ me!  
  
Why isn't he talking? Fred Weasley is never without words. He should be talking. Filling the tense air with words. Any kind of words. Just words. Words to drown out the thunderous beating of my heart.   
  
He's not going to say anything. He's really not going to say anything. At all.   
  
I feel a hysterical bubble catch inside my throat. And I just start laughing. Not stopping to breathe. Mouth wide open. Crazy laughter retching its way out of me. Tears are streaming down my face. And I know they're not from joy.   
  
I steal a glance at him. He's still wearing that fearful expression. But at the same time he's looking at me as though I've sprouted eight heads. And told him I'm really an alien. I should have told him that instead. It probably would have gone over better. _Anything_ would have gone over better.   
  
So this is it. The worst. I think I've found the very worst that could happen.   
  
And promptly puke on his shoes.   
  
- - -  
  
_"I thought he was a man  
But he was just a little boy…"_  
  
- - -   
  
A/N: Song lyrics from **Paper Bag- Fiona Apple**  
  
Please review!


	9. The Dream of the Astronaut

_- - -_

_"People are tricky, you can't afford to show  
Anything risky, anything they don't know  
The moment you try, well kiss it goodbye…"_

_- - -_

****

**Chapter Eight: The Dream of the Astronaut  
  
- Seventh Year -**   
  
Slanting sun rays make me blink against the morning.   
  
My eyes hurt. Ache, even. Feel as though they're seconds away from just rolling out of my head in search of a more comfortable environment. My tongue is sandpaper against the itchy roof of my mouth. My ears are ringing, body, tense. I'm drowning in a headache that is surely going to lead to my demise.   
  
I am so hung-over.   
  
My arms feel strangely limp and detached from my body. I swing an arm out to grab the clock off the bedside table. I miss. My wrist angrily collides with the corner, sending shockwaves racing up and down my arm. I curse under my breath.   
  
My head's so fuzzy. I still don't know what time it is. And I can't remember climbing into bed last night. Come to think of it, I don't remember _any _of last night. At all.   
  
I apparently drank a little too much, though.   
  
Dazed, I lay there. Staring at the ceiling. Searching for clues to last night.   
  
My shoulder's sore. I can feel the pain pulsing there. I pull the neck of my shirt down a little, taking note that it is most definitely not my pajama top, and am met by the black and blue and purple burst of color there. Looks worse than it feels.   
  
The wall. I ran into a wall. And he was there. We were coming back from the kitchen.   
  
The pieces immediately reassemble themselves in my mind. Malfoy on the Quidditch pitch. Umbridge kicking them off the team. Me being angry, and he apologizing. The kitchen. The drink. The walk back.   
  
The conversation…  
  
Oh, fuck. Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck **_fuck.   
_**  
I told him I loved him. I actually went and said those bloody words out loud. And he was all shocked and scared and…  
  
Oh, Merlin. I puked on him.   
  
I am so embarrassed and so humiliated and all I can think of doing right now is hanging myself with the bed sheets.   
  
What have I done? What the fuck have I done? How exactly am I supposed to get myself out of this mess? What can I possibly say to him now?   
  
I sit up. A mixture of panic and bile rising in my chest.   
  
And I hear it. The little voice in the back of my head: _You lie. You deny it all. Pretend it never happened. Pretend you can't remember **anything.**   
_  
"Fuck." I say it to the empty bedroom, not expecting a response.   
  
I hug my knees to my chest, knowing I have to do it. Lie, that is. Lie and deny. A typical day in the life of Angelina Johnson: terrible drunk, apparent schizoid and fake amnesiac.   
  
I'm going to be late for breakfast.   
  
- - -   
  
I look like hell. And I feel like it too. I have dark circles beneath bloodshot eyes. My clothes feel like they're sticking to my clammy skin, trying to suffocate me in the middle of the hallway. And I'm so nervous and I'm scared and I honestly don't have a fucking clue as to how I'll be able to ever face him.   
  
I force myself to keep moving. Towards the table. Full of Gryffindors and pancakes. And him.   
  
Left. Right. Left. Right. One step closer. I swallow down the fear rising in my throat.   
  
And suddenly I'm there. Standing there, at my usual spot at the table. Katie's there and George is there. Alicia is talking to Lee.   
  
He isn't here.   
  
And I'm far from relieved.   
  
- - -  
  
I finally spot him on the way to Potions. He looks just as shitty as I do.   
  
I'm worried.   
  
He doesn't acknowledge me the way he usually does, shouting "Oi! Angelina!" from across the way. He just walks. Rather, shuffles. Looking lost in an eternity of thoughts.   
  
I'm beyond worried now. What the fuck have I done?   
  
He's coming closer. Still not looking at me.   
  
Lie and deny. Lie and deny. Lie deny lie deny lie deny lie deny make it all better again.   
  
"Hey. Fred." I hear the tentativeness in my voice. The slight quake. The nervous hitch. Betraying the front I'm putting up. I pray he doesn't pick up on that.   
  
He finally raises his head. And I wish he'd put it back down again. He's pale and tired and looks like he hasn't slept in years. My stomach clenches. "Oh. Um. Hi. Ange." Now, Fred Weasley has never been the most eloquent of speakers, peppering his phrases with words that would make Molly Weasley drop into a dead faint, but one thing is for certain: He never stammers. He never pauses. He always knows what he's saying. Even if it is a load of bullshit. And he's never nervous, never anxious. But here he is, standing there in front of me. Avoiding eye contact and shifting his weight. Playing with the sides of his robes and without his usual smile.   
  
I need to fix this. I have to fix this. Now. But I'm so scared. Afraid I'll open my mouth and all the wrong things will spill out, ruining everything we have ever had.   
  
Lie and deny. At least he'll still be there. Cocky. Arrogant. Confident. Mine. But only in the sense that he'll be there to fuck me in between his shifts with the others.   
  
No.Yes. No. The time is ticking. And he's still standing there. Silent.   
  
So this is what the truth does, is it? Fucks things up beyond belief?  
  
But I need him. In my life. And not like this.   
  
"Um, Fred? What exactly, um, happened last night?" He studies me carefully. I wonder if he can tell it's a lie that's tumbling from my lips. "I mean, all I remember is going to the kitchen and, uh, somehow I just woke up in my bed. And, yeah, really don't remember the eight-or-so hours in between." I am such a shitty, terrible actress.  
  
"You really don't remember anything?" Maybe I'm better than I thought. He arches an eyebrow. Looking at me incredulously. Like he just found out he has a chance to actually win the bloody lottery.   
  
And I know then.   
  
He wants last night not to have happened. He doesn't want it to be real, wants it to be just a huge drunken mistake.   
  
He doesn't want me. He doesn't want me to love him.   
  
"No." I don't know how I managed to choke that syllable out.   
  
"Oh. Well. You-we got drunk. You passed out." I did? The surprise evidently shows itself on my face because he smiles a little.   
  
Funny. He omitted half the story.   
  
More like the whole story. The reason why he looks so down-trodden. The reason I'm such a crazed mess, about to fall to pieces at his feet.   
  
I feel hysteria coursing itself through my veins. I need to get out of here. But we have Potions and we're still talking and lunch isn't for a few more hours and, fuck. I can't do this.   
  
I start laughing. I really need to stop reacting this way. "Well! That's me. A terrible drunk. A few sips, and I'm gone!" I'm going to start crying. Merlin, I'm about to cry. I can't let him see me cry. Not now, not ever. "So, I'm really sorry about the whole passing out thing. And-and-and if I've, um, said, or-or done anything to offend you, I'm really, _truly_ sorry." I pause to breathe. I hate him so fucking much. I lock eyes with him. And in the calmest tone I can muster, I whisper. "I'm sure I didn't mean it."   
  
And he smiles. The relief spelled out across his wide grin. The burden lifted up off of his shoulders and placed back on mine.   
  
I think I'll cave beneath the weight. And I know he won't be there to pick me back up again.   
  
- - -   
  
I'm in the Owlery. Sending a letter to Oliver Wood. He wanted me to keep him in the loop. About the team. So here I am. Informing him of our latest Quidditch debacle. I know he'll be disappointed. In me. And frankly I don't care.   
  
I hear footsteps behind me. I turn. It's him. Of course. He always manages to find me when I'm alone.   
  
I don't want to see him right now. I can't bring myself to look at him or talk to him. Knowing he doesn't want me.   
  
"Hey." Owls flutter to the top, reacting to his voice. I flutter too. Just not noticeably.  
  
"Hey." Why do I do this? Play these silly games. _But this is what you wanted. Him back with you._ Yes. It was what I wanted. To be with him. Make things all better again.   
  
He looks at me curiously. "Are things all good now?" He looks much better than he did this morning. Refreshed. Invigorated. I know I still look like I've been run over by the Knight Bus. And that's saying something.   
  
"Of course."   
  
He smiles. The predator leering over his prey. I know what comes next. We've done this dance so many times my shoes have memorized the footsteps. I could sing the tune. _This is what you wanted._ And I have it. Him in my arms. Him leaning towards me.   
  
He kisses me. Roughly. Tongue immediately sweeping in. His teeth nick mine, and his hands feel too tight, stretched across my back. I feel clammy and gross and I don't want him touching me. Yes, I do. No, I don't. I'm fighting with myself while he's trying to take my bra off.   
  
And we're in the fucking Owlery. It just seems wrong. Too wrong. Everything seems wrong. Disgustingly wrong.   
  
I need him to stop. I can't breathe. I can't do this.   
  
"Fred…Fred…Stop…" He slows down a little. A prick he may be, but a gentleman nonetheless. "We can't do this here…"  
  
He gazes at me under hooded eyes. "We've done it in _far_ more public places before. Shall I name them for you?"   
  
I stop him. "Just not here. Later." He kisses me. Apparently agreeing. He winks, and walks away. Swaggers away.   
  
What just happened here?   
  
Normally his kisses turn me into a blabbering pile of mush. But this time…It felt so generic. The magic was gone, the chemistry was missing. Maybe it was just this one time.   
  
I promised him later. It better be better later.  
  
- - -  
  
Nine hours later, he's there next to me. My sheets covering his body. His head resting on my pillow.   
  
I feel like I need a shower.   
  
I listen to his breathing and feel my temper rise and my patience fall with each heavy exhalation.   
  
I feel dirty. Used. Disgusting.   
  
I let him use me. And it makes me sick.   
  
It sickens me that I'm lying to keep this going. Keeping things light for him. Just so he can shag me and I can pretend that I mean something more to him. Pretend there's meaning behind his kisses, and more than desire behind his caresses.   
  
I just feel empty. I felt empty, hollow the entire time. Disgusted with myself for letting him do this to me. Disgusted with him for not feeling the same.   
  
I should have known better. Sex doesn't equal love. It doesn't create love. It has nothing to do with love.   
  
But I let myself believe that it did. Believed that maybe he wanted me in more ways than one.   
  
Believed that he could love me.   
  
I'm so ashamed…  
  
I thought denying it would bring him back and I'd have him here with me and that would be all I'd need from him and just having him next to me, touching me, kissing me would be enough to make everything alright again.   
  
But here he is. Asleep in my bed. And it's not working. Nothing feels alright.   
  
His relieved smile won't leave my mind. Won't leave me alone. How relieved he was that I don't love him.   
  
But I do…  
  
A strangled sob escapes my mouth, echoing across the quiet canopy the curtains create. I can feel my heart pounding, my chest about to break. I can't breathe. I can't breathe…  
  
I take in a shallow breath, trying not to hyperventilate. But I can't catch it. My breath. I realize my face is wet. My pillow drenched. I roll to my side. Gaze at the closed curtain. Can't tell it's there. A black hole opening before me. I'm shaking. Tears rolling down my cheeks. I can taste the salt.   
  
And for the first time in years, I cry myself to sleep.   
  
He slept through the entire night.   
  
- - -  
  
_"So, baby, kiss me like a drug  
Like a respirator  
And let me fall into the dream of the astronaut  
Where I get lost in space that goes on forever  
And you make all the rest just an afterthought  
And I believe it's you who can make it better  
But it's not…No, it's not…"_  
  
- - -

A/N: Song lyrics from **It's Not- Aimee Mann**  
  
Yeah, I know. Somehow this story became super angst-y. I'm a sucker for angst. Can't help it. But please, read and review, let me know what you think. The more reviews I get, the faster I may update…


	10. Brick of Self Control

- - -  
  
_"She screams in silence  
A sullen riot penetrating  
Through her mind  
Waiting for a sign to smash the silence  
With the brick of self control…"_  
  
- - -

**Chapter Nine: Brick of Self Control**

**- Seventh Year -**  
  
"Wands away. Books out. Turn to Chapter Fifteen and please read."  
  
I open my book and gaze into my Defense Against the Dark Arts text, not absorbing a single word. Umbridge sits there, behind her desk. Merlin, I hate her. I'd love to throw this book at her and see what happens. I think I'd know what would happen. I've heard horror stories about her detention. She's apparently sadistic as well.   
  
Alicia sits there next to me. Doodling in the margins of the book. Drawing what I think is supposed to be a unicorn, but looks oddly obscene. I drum my fingers on the desktop, pretending to be lost in Chapter Fifteen. Funny. I don't remember chapters One through Fourteen. I make a mental note to review this material. Bloody N.E.W.T.'s coming up. Far too quickly.   
  
I feel a tap on my shoulder. I peer back. And it's him. We haven't talked in a couple of days. Since we slept together. I don't like to think about it. Nervous breakdowns aren't fun to remember. He drops a crumpled piece of paper in my life. As carefully as I can, I smooth the paper out. _'Meet me in the locker room after practice.'_   
  
So this is what we been resorted to. Passing notes in the middle of class to arrange our secret rendezvous.   
  
I think I'm going to be sick.   
  
- - -   
  
I'm walking down the halls. To lunch. Caught in between a bickering Katie and Alicia. Arguing over the age-old debated rule concerning ex-boyfriends. I'm not listening. I wonder if they get sick of that. Me not listening to them. I do it so often. I never used to be this way.   
  
I have his note in my pocket. His scribbled handwriting on the wrinkled parchment. He has the worst handwriting. I always have difficulty reading it. As do most of the professors. That's one of the ways to tell the difference between Fred and George. George's handwriting is far neater. Fred's is a mess. A disaster across the page. A mystery to the naked eye.   
  
I keep on thinking about meeting him later. It's making me nervous and nauseous. That's really not the reaction he was gunning to achieve. At least I hope not.   
  
I hate that things have been so weird. Ever since I had to go and open my big fat alcohol-stained mouth. But it's only weird for me. He's fine. Or at least seems to be. Still chatting me up like he always has. Still wants to fuck my brains out. It's not that I've lost interest. Rather, it's that I'm uncomfortable.   
  
I feel cheated. And cheap. I don't like lying to him. I don't like the fact I have to disguise how I really feel about him in order for him to stick with me. I don't like what that means.   
  
We reach the table. The argument between the two more heated than ever. I sigh, sitting across from them. Letting them duke it out over the pumpkin juice.   
  
I glance up. At exactly the wrong time.   
  
There's Fred. Over at the Ravenclaw table. Whispering in a girl's ear. The same girl I saw him with before. The blonde. The Nameless Blonde. My arch nemesis.   
  
They look cozy. He looks happy. And I don't understand. I thought he merely threw the girls away once he was done with them. I didn't know that he occasionally recycled them.   
  
Something about her tells me she hasn't been recycled though. She's been with him all along.   
  
My appetite slips away. And I sit there staring at my empty plate.   
  
- - -  
  
The day passes far too quickly for me. Before I know it, I'm walking back into the locker rooms after practice. An extended practice, I might add. I've always been one to try and put off the inevitable.   
  
Eventually all the showers turn off, the steam settles and the team disappears. And suddenly it's just the two of us. Face to face. In the locker room.   
  
I want to run. But he's right there. And blocking the only way out.   
  
He's got that glint in his eye. And he's approaching me. I close my eyes. Trying to pull myself together. When I open them he's there. Face to face with me. Looking at him hurts too much.   
  
He's kissing me. And there's nothing tender or romantic about it. It's about speed and efficiency and I realize that now. His tongue is roaming down my throat. And I think I'm going to gag. His hands are pulling at my clothes. And suddenly we're back up at the Owlery, the same terrifyingly sickening feeling creeping through me.   
  
I can't do this.   
  
"No." The words get lost, his mouth connected with my own. I push him back, my hands shoving at his chest. "No." He frowns. Not liking what I'm saying.   
  
"No?" I nod. Looking at the floor, the sinks, the towels. Anywhere but at him. I know he's frustrated. And fear he's angry.   
  
"Alright. Alright. Ange, what the fuck is going on?" He's running a hand through his already tousled hair. Messed up by me short minutes ago. And he's looking at me. Looking at me as though I just escaped from St. Mungo's.   
  
He still doesn't understand. And he's never going to understand. Not until I put it out there, in clear and legible print, and hand him a pair of reading glasses.   
  
I never thought he was this blind. I stand corrected.   
  
I chuckle softly. My hurt masquerading beneath the sound. "You really don't get it, do you? Fred?" He continues to gaze at me. As though I'm certifiable insane. I'm getting angry now. "You haven't a clue, do you? You haven't a fucking clue. Not a clue. Not a single, bloody clue." I'm yelling at this point. And I really don't care. No one's here to listen. No one's here to judge. No one but him. And lately, that really hasn't meant too much. He makes it seem as though I might as well be talking to myself. "Okay. Okay. You want me to spell it out for you? Do you, Fred? Because I will. Because lately we have been getting _nowhere_. We're on two different pages on two fucking different continents." I inhale sharply. "So, here it is. Fred. Here it fucking is." He's been on the receiving end of my anger before. But never like this. It was always both Fred and George I was mad at. Now. Now it's just him. "Here it is." I breathe deeply. Trying to be brave. Trying to be strong. "I meant every word I said that night on the stairs." I see him start, and know what he's about to say. I put my hand up to stop him. "I know – I know I said I didn't remember anything. I lied. I lied to try and make things…normal again. I lied because I needed to have you. Back with me. Even just in this sense." Why am I telling him this? "But it's not the same. I can't do this. Pretending I want things to be all…platonic." This is so hard. I'm not this brave. Not this strong. This forward. "I like you." I'm talking softly now. Scared of what may come next. "A lot. I really, really like you. And not just as a friend." I can't bring myself to say those three words to him. Not this time. Not again. My fingers are joined together in front of me. Nervously wrestling with each other. I finally look back at him. Back at his bewildered expression, feeling the air whoosh out of me as I'm quickly deflated. "So, there it is," I end lamely. Dropping my hands down to my sides. Gazing up at him. 'Hope' tattooed to my forehead.   
  
"There it is." His words are measured as he repeats me. Studying the floor beneath him. Jiggling his foot slightly.   
  
And then there's silence. And I can't believe he's doing this to me. Again.   
  
"Are you going to say…anything?"   
  
He finally looks up. And I see it. Etched into his face. The upcoming apology. I hear my heart hit the ground.   
  
"I thought you knew…"he starts. Clears his throat, and begins again. "I thought you knew about, about Bridget."   
  
"Bridget." Sounding the name out. Hating how it feels in my mouth. I look up, anger shooting through me. "Who the fuck is Bridget?"  
  
He winces. "Ravenclaw. Sixth-year. Blonde. I've been – uh – spending some time with her lately, and, well, I really, really like her. I was sure I told you."   
  
"No. No, you never did." I'm whispering again. Feeling the tears well up in my eyes. Bridget. Bridget the Blonde. Bridget the Fucking Blonde. The Nameless Blonde. My arch nemesis. I'm going to cry.   
  
I can't let him see me cry. I can't let him see me I can't let him see me he can't he can't he can't he can't. I have to leave.   
  
"That's - - really - - - fantastic." I turn to leave, my throat constricting, vision blurring. I'm dying. "I hope that you two are really - - really happy together." My voice cracks. Giving me away. I start to move.   
  
"Wait! Angelina! Wait! Wait a bloody second!" He grabs my arm. I hide my face. I can't let him see me. I can't let him see me now. "Are you – are you okay?"   
  
Something snaps.   
  
I let out a sob. Not caring anymore. He's already seen me put my heart on the line. Why shouldn't he see me cry too? Halfway through, I start laughing bitterly. Defense Mechanism #1 kicking in. I jerk my arm out of his grasp, surprising him with the violence of the action. "Am I okay? Am I - - ? What the fuck, Fred? No. No, I am not _okay_." I keep crying, trying to take in air. "Do you – do you have _any_ idea as to how much courage it took – to tell you all that? And – and – and then you –you tell me! Tell me about _her_! No, Fred, I am not okay!" I hate myself. Hate myself for being so stupid and so weak and so naïve and for letting him see me like this. I hate him for watching. I hate him. So much. My face is buried in my hands, and I let them fall away. I greet him head-on. Let him see the tear tracks and my reddened nose.   
  
"Angie…Angelina…I'm sorry…" He's coming towards me again. I back away.   
  
He words make me even madder. Make my temper flare up once more, eclipsing the sorrow and the pain I feel.   
  
"I don't want your bloody apology." The words escape through clenched teeth. Making my jaw ache. "I don't want your pity or your sympathy." I'm spitting the words out now. Glaring at his face. I'm an inferno now. He's burning me to the ground. "I don't want to see you or talk to you. I - don't - want - you - anymore." My voice is quite low, but reeking still of anger and rage and frighten me all the same. He looks shocked, hurt even. Blondie will make it better though.   
  
Thinking of her makes me shudder. He notices, and looks all the more upset.   
  
I can't stay here. I need to leave.  
  
I grab my bag off the bench and head towards the door. I turn around once, once more to take him in. Take in his slouching posture and the hands inside his pockets. "I'm sorry I thought I meant more to you. I'm sorry I thought you were someone else."   
  
I'm being a bitch. And I know it. I turn around one last time and walk away. I hear him call my name and just keep moving.   
  
I slept alone that night. Feeling more alone than ever.   
  
- - -  
  
_"She's figured out   
All her doubts were someone else's point of view   
Walking up this time   
To smash the silence with the brick of self-control…"_  
  
- - -  
  
A/N: Song lyrics from **She - Green Day.**   
  
Oh, and the angst continues on flowing. Meh. This wasn't one of my favorite chapters. I'm sure I'll end up changing it later…  
  
I know that not all of us here are angst fans, so I must let you know, we're going to be knee-deep in the angst for a while here. But I'm a hopeless romantic all the same, so that should give you a clue as to how this all shall end…  
  
I've made an executive decision, and have come to the conclusion that there will be seven more chapters, and then the show's over. Just thought I'd let you know.   
  
Thank you for all the awesome reviews. They make my world and make me smile. So please, continue on in that vein and please read and review!


	11. The Frost Killing Hour

- - -  
  
_"I've been treated so wrong  
__I've been treated so long  
As if I'm becoming untouchable  
I'm the slow dying flower  
In the frost killing hour  
Sweet turning sour and untouchable…"_  
  
- - -

**Chapter Ten: The Frost Killing Hour  
  
- Seventh Year -**

The silent treatment. Very childish. Very effective. Oddly fulfilling.   
  
It's been a week and four days. Since we last even attempted communication. We haven't spoken to each other since the debacle in the locker room. I've been keeping good on my word.   
  
But it's hard.   
  
It's hard when you remember good times but realize that they're now tainted by what has just happened. It's the hardest when something happens and you want to run over and tell them about it, but remember that you're no longer speaking. That's the worst. I'll do something moronic or something will make me laugh out loud, and I immediately think of him. And how much he would appreciate it. But then I remember. And it's her and him and them together and rejection and refusal and the pain is fresh and new all over again. And I've forgotten what was so fucking funny in the first place.   
  
But there are times. Times where I forget why I'm so mad at him. I'll be sitting there, in class, at the table eating lunch, in the Common Room pretending to study, and I'll see him. And he's just…so perfect. He with the sparkly red hair that always feels so good to touch. He with the x-ray vision eyes that always manage to shrink me down to size. And I'll fall for him all over again. Sitting there, gazing at him from afar, trying to recall why exactly things went so sour. But then the moment passes. Lost as she walks through the door, greeted by him. Lost as my spur-of-the-moment amnesia fades away. The moment evaporating into the tension-laden air. And I hate him all over again.   
  
This needs to stop. It hurts too much to relive it all over again.   
  
But at the same time…Those few moments, those scant minutes, far and distant, they're almost enough for me. They've become what I live for.   
  
But he'll never know that. He'll never hear it from me.   
  
- - -  
  
Classes are over for the day and we've accumulated enough work to keep us busy for a good week. We have a weekend to complete the load.   
  
Some would say, "At least the weather's nice." I am not among them.   
  
I've got a thundercloud hovering above my head and I want the rest of the world to share in my misery. Misery loves company. I've never really bought that one either, though. But I want the rain and the storms and the clouds to fill with anger, casting their wrath down upon us, our lot of unlucky fools. I want the Great Hall ceiling to be painted a dusty grey, the color of slate. I want the sky to match my heart.   
  
But it never actually works that way. Of course.   
  
Katie, Alicia and I are outside. Under the mocking sun and crystal clear sky. We're scribbling away frantically, be it Transfiguration, Defense Against the Dark Arts, or, worst case scenario, Divination.   
  
I glance up, reaching for another sheet of parchment. And regret the action immediately.   
  
I must have some kind of radar-thing going on here. Because there he is, across the lake. Hand in hand with her. Smiling.   
  
Poke my eyes out with red hot pokers. My soul is on fire.   
  
The pain hasn't lessened any, each time I see him in passing. Always seeing them together. No. The sting still bites, getting sharper, clearer, stabbing me deeper until the knife is poking out the other side. And it's not any sunnier over there. He's killing me. Slowly. A sick torture robbing me of sanity and spirit.   
  
I hate him for doing this. To me.   
  
"Ange? Angelina? Hey!" A hand waves in front of my face, shaking me out of my reverie. Blinking my eyes rapidly, shaking my befuddled head.   
  
"What?" Katie and Alicia are staring at me. A portrait of worry and curiosity.   
  
Alicia sighs, tilting her head slightly to the side. "Okay, Ange. This has gone on for far enough. What's the deal?" Katie nods, signing her name to the statement.   
  
"The deal?" Play dumb. That always goes over well with the audience. I'm twirling a lone blade of grass. Avoiding the question. Avoiding the answer. Avoiding the truth. Avoiding myself.   
  
"Yes, _Angelina_." She says my name in a cutting tone. I know my name. No need to be so harsh about it. "What the hell is going on? You've become so…mopey. And moody. You sit around all day in a trance, you constantly look like you're just seconds away from just, I don't know, bursting into tears! You don't pay attention, you're never listening to either of us. It's getting old. And it's so _not_ you. You're not opening up to us. I mean, you used to tell us _everything_, or what I assume to be everything. Now…nothing. We're just getting really rather bloody tired of it. Katie and I are your _friends_. We're here for you. And we're more than willing to listen." Katie nods her consent at this. "So, please. Tell us. What's going on?"   
  
I look into her earnest face. And my first impulse is to laugh. And then lie. There is no way I'm opening this can of worms. Tell them about Fred and how we used to fuck on a regular basis and how I accidentally let myself fall for him but he fell for Blondie Ravenclaw and now more than anything I just want to tear my hair out and lock myself in my room with a whole shit-load of valium and never come out.   
  
I don't think they even know what valium is. This definitely wouldn't go over well.   
  
So, I swallow and smile. Letting the truth and my emotions sink just a little bit lower beneath the surface.   
  
"I'm just…stressed. Is all. There's Quidditch, and that captain position is no easy task. Believe me. And then there's all this work to do. And N.E.W.T.'s. I'm worried about those. And I'm worried about leaving Hogwarts. I mean, I honestly haven't a bloody clue what I want to do once we're done with this place. And Fred and I are fighting over something…stupid."   
  
Fuck. Why did I have to bring him into this?   
  
They arch their eyebrows. "Fred?" Katie asks.  
  
"Fighting?" Alicia adds.   
  
"It's nothing. Nothing new or…unusual. Just adds some more flame to the fire." I smile. Convincing them, I pray, that fighting with Fred is nothing out of the ordinary.   
  
But it's everything…  
  
No. No, it's not.   
  
"He's going with that Ravenclaw, isn't he?" Katie looks curious. And I feel like I was just punched in the gut. Hard.   
  
"Yeah. Yeah, he is." Take a deep breath. Let it out slow.   
  
"Good for him," Alicia adds idly.   
  
Yes. Good for him. Bully for him! Fantastic! Superb! Top drawer! I'm going to go hysterical on them in a second. And I _know_ they won't like that.   
  
They change the subject, but I'm still caught on the former. I think it's possible for anger to boil so high that instead of scorching you and scathing you, it freezes you instead. I feel like a fucking popsicle. The human variety. Not sold in stores. I'm frozen. My heart stopped mid-beat. Frostbite eating its way through me. Circulatory system to nervous system to respiratory.   
  
I'm becoming numb to the pain. The pain that is him.   
  
I know that this is just the beginning. Of closing myself off.   
  
I can't even tell my two fucking best friends how I feel. I think I'll inherit the throne as Ice Queen.   
  
"What did you say you and Fred were fighting over?" Katie is sometimes too bloody nosy for her own damn good.   
  
"I didn't." I really didn't mean for those words to sound so cold. But it's hard not to. When you've let yourself dip below zero.   
  
She looks nonplussed. "Fine. But brace yourself. Here he comes." She turns her head and I follow. Sure enough. Here he comes. Fred and his Blonde Bride.   
  
"Hey." A timid greeting. From a Weasley. Hell has surely frozen over. Or I have at least. And it's funny. Looking at him. And feeling nothing for once. Nothing more than anger. Not the usual odd desire stirring deep within me. Or the aching need to have him hold me and love me. Just anger. And fury. And rage.   
  
I can tell he's nervous. For some reason that fuels me on.   
  
I refuse to say a word to him. I refuse to dignify him with a response. Surely, he of all people, must expect this.   
  
"Um, this is Bridget. Bridget, this is Katie, and Alicia…and Angelina."   
  
I keep my stare blank. My blood is blue, icing me off in its path.   
  
"Thrilled to make your acquaintance," I say to her. I'll talk to her, but not to him. I can feel how rigid my face is. Impassive. Eyes stone cold. I can't handle the anger building inside me.   
  
I get up and leave. I've suffered enough awkward situations to last me a lifetime. This, he _must _know.   
  
- - -  
  
I lay across my bed, horizontally. Feet bouncing in the air, ankles banging against the side. My head is hanging off the edge. Upside-down. I wonder if my hair can tough the ground. From this angle I can't quite tell. I can feel the random escaped tears getting lost in my hairline and wish for all the blood to rush to my head.   
  
The room is empty. And of course it is. It's dinnertime. But I couldn't bring myself to leave the room. Not after the lake and seeing him and her and imagining a dinner involving him. Makes my appetite fly out the window.   
  
And I wish desperately to follow.   
  
- - -  
  
I can hear the snores and heavy, sleep-induced labored breathing dancing around the room. It's late. And my growling stomach won't let me sleep. I need food. I need sleep. And in order to sleep, I need food. Logical thought process.   
  
I gracefully clamber out of bed, grabbing my robe, wand and slippers and head off. Down the halls. In search of the kitchen. And of course, thinking of him.   
  
We've gone down to that kitchen so many times. Tickled the pear, hob-knobbed with the house-elves. They have the best chocolate cake down there. Positively sinful. Makes me salivate to think of.   
  
I reach the kitchen without running into Mrs. Norris, or even worse, Filch. I tip-toe across the tile floors, feeling the need to be cautious. Cautious in the empty, cavernous kitchen where nary a soul is about.   
  
Or so I thought.   
  
I find the pantry. And the light is on. And out he comes with an armful of sweets.   
  
He looks at me, shocked, surprised. And something else that I can't quite place. He his hair is rumpled and one pant leg is higher than the other. His robe isn't tied and is hanging wide open. He looks a mess.   
  
I hate him.   
  
"Couldn't sleep," he mumbles. Explaining his presence. I feel no need to do the same. He's waiting for me to though. But I'm done jumping through hoops for him. Done catering to his every whim. Done trying to be the girl for him.   
  
He inhales deeply. Exhaling loudly and slowly, his frustration clearly evident. "Fuck, Angelina. Is this how it's going to be now? You racing off every time you see me? Not even talking to me? Looking at me like I'm the bloody scum of the earth? I don't want for things to have to…be this way."  
  
He's such an arse. A complete and total arse. I almost pity him.   
  
"That's rich. That's really rich, Fred. Not only do you get to blatantly hurt me, but you also get to play the victim and place orders as well. Fuck you, Fred. _Fuck you_." I'm spitting venom now. Still frighteningly calm though. Not raising my voice a single decibel. But the pain and the anger and the hurt are all there. Echoing in the frigid tone of my voice. "You don't want things to be this way. Poor you. Poor sad Fred who hasn't a fucking clue. Poor confused Fred. Poor silly, stupid Fred. Nothing is _ever_ your fault." I've closed the gap between us. We're face to face now.   
  
"Angelina…" He's putting his arms around me.   
  
And I slap him. Hard. And watch the shock and the outrage register on his face.   
  
"Don't you fucking _dare_ touch me. You _bastard._ Where do you get off? You think that _touching_ me or-or-or _fucking_ me will make it all better?" I have never been so angry in my life. How dare he. How dare he. How dare he try and fix things like that. How dare he touch me when he's still with her. He's still with her. Still with her with her with her. "I hate you. I hate your bloody guts, Fred Weasley. I hate you. I hate you, I hate you, I hate you. I hate you." I pound his chest each time, accentuating my words. I'm reminded of the night I told him I loved him. How I repeated it over and over again. It's like a sick reprisal. Only in reverse.   
  
I haven't shed a tear. I don't think I have any left. The reserves have emptied out.   
  
I back away. Staring at the ashen look on his face. His freckles stark against his pale composure. He almost looks as though he could cry.   
  
"_I hate you_," whispering it one last time.   
  
I start to walk away. He doesn't try and stop me.   
  
I'm not hungry anymore. - - -   
  
_"Well, contempt loves the silence  
It thrives in the dark  
With fine winding tendrils  
That strangle the heart…"_  
  
- - -   
  
A/N: Song lyrics from **My Skin – Natalie Merchant**  
  
Thank you times a million to everyone who has left me the fabulous reviews! You make my world and my day and make me so incredibly happy. Please, keep reviewing. It makes my heart skip a beat and I smile all day long.


	12. And Run

- - -  
  
_"I didn't think this would happen again  
No matter what I could do or say  
Just that I didn't think this would happen again  
With or without my best intentions  
And whatever happened to a boyfriend  
The kind of guy who tries to win you over?  
And whatever happened to a boyfriend  
The kind of guy who makes love 'cause he's in it…"_  
  
- - -  
  
**Chapter Eleven: And Run  
  
- Seventh Year -**  
  
Trying to move on is far more insanely difficult than most people let on. It's like trying to take those first steps. All wobbly and your feet can't seem to hold you up and it takes all the determination in the world to just stay standing. And you know you'll fall, but you attempt it anyway, and sure enough, you come crashing down. Sometimes quite painfully.  
  
I'm learning to walk all over again.  
  
And it's harder than I thought.  
  
- - -  
  
We've given up all pretenses. I hate him and he knows it. I hate him and I'm trying to know it.  
  
We don't talk. Ever. They all find it odd. I can tell. The sidelong glances. The curiously arched eyebrows. That look that is just begging me to explain. I don't even think Fred has told George. About us. The beginning and its subsequent fall-out. And that's saying something. Really saying something. Those two share everything. A bedroom, DNA, their secrets, their schemes, their escapades. Every sordid little detail.

Boys.  
  
Katie and Alicia think I have fallen completely off my rocker and have gone past the point of being completely unhealthy. They think something is severely wrong with me. And maybe there is. It's called rejection. I've let it ruin me.  
  
And I'm sick of it.  
  
I look in the mirror and am disgusted with myself. Wonder what happened to the original me. The me that was optimistic most of the time and just smiling and content with the life I was leading. The me that didn't question a person's motivations, who could eagerly take things at face value. The me that didn't believe in cynicism and thought love was a real emotion. The innocent me, the naïve me. The happy me.  
  
Now all I see is a whining, pathetic little mess who let a boy completely unhinge her. Let her emotions and fears and issues cloud her personality. A girl getting frighteningly close to rock bottom and who wouldn't know a helping hand if it slapped her across the face. Which may be exactly what she needs.  
  
I'm everything I ever stood against…  
  
I don't like what I've become. I fear what I've become.  
  
- - -  
  
"Hey, Ange. Remember that one guy I was telling you about a while back?" She looks at me over her glass of pumpkin juice.  
  
The guy she told me about…Merlin, there have been so many it's impossible to guess. Quidditch players and prefects, Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs. Brains and jocks and purebloods; shy boys, loud boys, boys in between.  
  
Katie is my own personal match-making service.  
  
"Ummmm…" My mouth is full and I'm hoping that she'll take this as my answer and elaborate from here.  
  
She does. I know her better than she thinks I do.  
  
"That Hufflepuff. Seventh year. You talked to him for a little. Good looking. Sweet. Smart. Funny." She's looking at me, waiting for me to remember. I pretend I do just to appease her. Honestly, he's lost in a sea of faces and mindless conversations. I couldn't fish him out to save my life.  
  
She arches an eyebrow. "His name is Ryan." Ryan. A normal name among all the strange wizarding ones that clutter up one's tongue.  
  
"Ryan," I repeat. Learning to speak for the first time.  
  
"Yes. Ryan. And he's way into you." She leans in, conspiratorially. "He was telling me about it the other day in Herbology. He thinks that you are so pretty and he would love to talk to you again." Hmmm. If he wants to talk to me so bad, then why is he speaking through Katie? Whatever. I need to stop doing this. Over-thinking. Over-analyzing. My brain may catch fire. And that will surely freak Katie out.  
  
"Really." All I can say. I don't really give a fuck about this Ryan.  
  
But he likes me. He thinks I'm pretty. He wants to talk to me. And I have to move on. I have to move on. I have to move on. I have to.  
  
I take a deep breath. I know this plunge is going to hurt. "Tell him I'm interested."  
  
I'm underwater and have forgotten how to breathe.  
  
- - -  
  
I'm in Herbology with my hands covered in dragon hide as I dig around in dirt. I have never liked this class much. Too easy for my tastes. Too boring.  
  
And this Ryan chap is here. Across the way. Been making eyes at me the entire class period.  
  
He is attractive. Blue eyes. Dark hair. A slightly tan complexion. I remember him now. He's smart. Not too smart, but smart enough. Gets good marks. Has lots of friends.  
  
He will be my guinea pig. My experiment. My test.  
  
I hope he doesn't mind.  
  
The class is over not soon enough, and I pack up my things to leave. A shadow falls over me. I think it's him. And immediately kick myself, deep in the recesses of my mind. It's not. And I know this. But I think it's him anyway.  
  
I look up. To Ryan.

I hate myself for being disappointed.  
  
"Hey…" I can see the apprehension in his eyes. Hear the anxiety behind his words. He's nervous. I make him nervous.  
  
This is slightly empowering.  
  
"Hey." I hate this small talk shit, the small talk shit that is sure to come. The awkward greetings, the useless questions about the weather. Inquiring upon their well-being but not remembering the response.  
  
Sure enough this all transpires.  
  
He walks with me. Down to the Great Hall. Telling me about some concert tickets or something he has for the summer. And how his dad wants him to work for the Ministry. I must have asked him what he wants to do after he leaves Hogwarts. Funny. I don't seem to remember that.  
  
And I don't know how I kept up my end of the conversation. I was curving under the weight of too many thoughts and too many crazed emotions to keep my mind on what he was saying. But I must have been doing a good job. He was chuckling and smiling appreciatively. Nodding his head, lost in rapt attention. Toward me.  
  
I wish I could say it made me feel all warm and fuzzy inside. To know that a boy, a man, could look at me this way. It didn't. It made me feel guilty.  
  
He's interchangeable in my mind. This Ryan, this Ryan could be any other Tom, Dick or Harry. He's my rebound. My fucking rebound.  
  
Honestly, what have I become…  
  
We enter the Great Hall, guilt consuming me by the minute. Guilt and shame. I look at him and deserve to die. Poor Ryan. Poor nice little Ryan.  
  
I'm about to beg my leave of him, when I spot them. Him and her. The him and her that got me here in the first place. And I forget how to swallow, how to blink. There they are and here I am.  
  
I have to move on. I have to move on. Just move on move on move on move on move on now.  
  
I'm teetering on unsteady feet now. One step forward. Just one. One step forward.  
  
"Meet me in the Astronomy Tower. Nine o'clock." I don't even bother phrasing it as a question. It's a statement. An order. A direct command from me. Meet me there. And I will come. And I will make you drag me along and away from him.  
  
He smiles. He has a nice smile. I like that it reaches his eyes and they sort of light up. He's pretty to look at.  
  
He walks away and I let out the breath I've been holding this entire time.  
  
- - -  
  
It's almost nine. And I'm slowly shuffling my way to the tower. Off to my execution.  
  
I can't begin to explain the dread that is creeping under my skin. I don't understand it.  
  
But I'm here and I have to move forward and can't look back and need to go on with my life. My sad little life.  
  
I push the door open and step inside.  
  
He's here already. Punctual. Another plus for Ryan. Ryan-who-has-no-last-name.  
  
He's wearing a smile again. A slightly different one this time. The cat whose about to devour the canary kind of smile. I feel fear rather than exhilaration.  
  
He's closing the distance between us and I squelch the desire to run. _You have to do this. You have to. He likes you and you should like him and you can't remain in the past. He doesn't want you. And you don't want him. Anymore.  
_  
I try to smile but the idea doesn't seem to reach my lips. But he does. Reach my lips that is. And he's kissing me, and he's not bad, but he's kissing me and he's not him but he's kissing me and I wish it was him and he's kissing me and he's quite good and I'm letting him and I want him to stop but I don't because if he does then I have failed because I need to move on and I need to move one and I need for him to help me to move on.  
  
So I let him. Do what he wants with me.  
  
- - -  
  
The sun is rising. And I haven't slept yet. I have been sitting on my bed, knees to chest, the entire night. Sitting with the curtains closed, slightly, letting the light attempt to filter in. Sitting and rocking and trying not to think.  
  
I'm never going to see Ryan again. See him like that.  
  
Yes, he was perfectly nice. A perfect gentleman. Polite. Courteous. Sincere. A good kisser…  
  
I don't wish to ever think about that again.  
  
The mission was a failure. My mission to break myself of him. To learn to walk, toddle away from him. I fell.  
  
Ryan was a failure. A failure who made me feel disgustingly guilty. But I'll try again. Later. If I am anything, then I am perseverant. So I'll keep trying. Trying with a different boy for a different day of the week. Trying to find someone who can break the spell I let him put upon me.  
  
I guess it's one step forward and ten steps back.  
  
- - -  
  
_"And I can feel it in my bones  
I'm gonna spend another year alone  
It's fuck and run, fuck and run  
Even when I was seventeen  
Fuck and run, fuck and run…"_  
  
- - -  
  
A/N: Song lyrics from **Fuck and Run – Liz Phair.**  
  
I am really sorry that it took me so long to update. But when your own life is imploding around you, it's hard to update. But I will tell you know, it is my sad duty to inform you that updates will be becoming more and more infrequent. Summer is ending for me, and with that, my free time is ending considerably as well. It makes me terribly sad. But I will continue this story. Just not at the rapid pace I was going before.  
  
As for this chapter…yes, I am well aware that Angelina sounds a bit of a slut. But she's my protagonist. My main character. And I don't want her to be perfect. I don't want her to be flawless and completely admirable. She's a teenage girl. A sad, rejected teenage girl. Of course she's going to fuck up and have her faults. Just warning you now. This chapter was more of a filler chapter. Connecting Point A to Point B. The next chapter may be a little like that as well. But the ending is all written out, and when I say ending, I mean last like 4 chapters. My favorites. And I can't wait to post them.  
  
The reviews have been wonderful, and thank you all so much for sticking with me. Please, let me know what you think of this, and I promise I'll try to update soon.


	13. Sick Domestic Abuser

- - -  
  
_"For a long time I was in love  
Not only in love, I was obsessed  
With a friendship that no one else could touch  
It didn't work out, I'm covered in shells…  
  
I'm so ashamed, I've been so mean  
I don't know how it got to this point  
I always was the one with all the love  
You came along; I'm hunting you down  
Like a sick domestic abuser looking for a fight…"_  
  
- - -  
  
**Chapter Twelve: Sick Domestic Abuser  
  
- Seventh Year -**  
  
He's kissing my ear. Licking it and rolling the lobe between his harsh teeth. I can feel the enamel against the skin, smell the breath that is threatening to consume me. He had onions today. It's enough to make me gag.  
  
He's speaking. But they're words that I don't want to hear. Words that make me feel the wanton whore and he my man of the hour. Words that should never escape a man's lips. Lips that are moving away from my ear and down my neck, leaving a trail of saliva in its wake. Burning my skin. Like acid. Making it peel away.  
  
He's too heavy. Leaning on my chest. I can hear my breastbone creaking, warning me. I'm about to shatter. And then I'll just be here. A limp, lifeless pile of broken bones. And he'll have to sweep me away. Under a rug. And tell his friends that nothing happened.  
  
His hands are clammy. Sweaty. Too hot. And not in a good way. They're sticking, sticking to my skin. My skin that's lost in a cold sweat. Sweat of a nightmare. Wake me up now. And we can pretend nothing ever happened.  
  
I don't know why I do this to myself. Why I let him and him and the other and his friend. Touch me like this. Look at me like that. Undress me with their eyes and later with clumsy fingers.

But I do know...  
  
It's to forget. To wipe the slate clean and somehow start over again. But no one has. Yet. They've just made the writing stand out all the clearer, the sharper. The much more vivid. This one-sided coupling is getting old. And I am getting tired.  
  
I haven't been able to look in the mirror for what feels like weeks.  
  
- - -  
  
I'm a folk song in the making. The downfall of the fair maiden whose young squire left her alone among the beasts.  
  
She let them all consume her. You wouldn't be able to recognize her anymore. You wouldn't want to.  
  
She's ugly now.  
  
I'm walking. Walking back to my room. Walking and walking and walking and feeling my self plummet a little further with each resounding footstep. The sounds bouncing off of empty walls.  
  
I don't belong here. In a castle. I belong beneath the roof of a seedy hotel. Walls dripping in ancient water stains. Carpet torn past mending. Beds draped in covers that haven't been cleaned in decades; floral design no longer discernible. A faucet that drips most of the night away. Rusty doorknobs and squeaky hinges.  
  
I can't look up. I can't look up. I have to look down. Look down. Look down. And find myself dancing with the devil in the flames of hell. But this is hell. Right here. And I am frying. Burning until you won't be able to tell my arms from my legs, my heart from my intestines. I'm decaying. Disintegrating.  
  
I let them touch me. I let them look at me. I let them see me naked. I let them kiss me and touch me and try to hold me and I let them do the things only you could once do. I let them have me. Because of you.  
  
You.  
  
_Step. Step. Step. Left. Right. Left. Walk faster. Walk faster and leave it all behind. Walk walk walk walk. And you'll be gone soon. And so will he. And all the things he made you do._  
  
Them.  
  
They won't help me. They can't help me. But I let them try. Over and over again. Repetition only leads to insanity and I think I'm cracking up.  
  
I let them use me. To forget you.  
  
You.  
  
You ruined me. Colored my soul black. Ripped hope right off its hinges and let it fly away. Flapping in the wind. I'm a shell of a woman. A hole in the middle. A void to fill. A woman. With circles beneath her eyes. You wouldn't know that though. You don't look at me anymore.  
  
_Just breathe. Just breathe. Keep walking. And breathe. Breathe. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale. Now is not the time to cry._

But I need to. I'm running in circles and I think I've gone mad and I have no idea how I've managed to live anymore. Like this.  
  
I am so alone and so cold and so alone and I just want someone to hold me and just hold me and not tell me that everything will be okay because those aren't words I need to hear. I don't want to hear anything and I don't want you to tell me anything. I just want someone close and someone here. I just want to know I'm not alone and I just don't want to be alone right now but I am and it's cold and I just need someone.  
  
_Almost there. Almost there. Run inside. And sleep it all away.  
_  
In the morning it's always better.  
  
- - -  
  
I wake up angry. Foaming at the mouth angry. Recapping the last week and a half in my head. And promptly wishing I was dead.  
  
I'm trying to find the point where I shed my dignity and left my respect by the wayside. Trying to pinpoint the time when I thought that casual sex and hooking up could lead to happiness. Or at the very least to closure. To moving on and crawling out of the past.  
  
I apparently have to learn my lessons the hard way.  
  
I'm out of bed now. Heading towards the bathroom. I'm late once again. The bathroom has emptied out, everyone already down at breakfast. It's okay though. I apparently don't feel the need to eat any longer.  
  
I pull my shirt up and over my head, carefully averting my reflection in the mirror. I don't belong to me anymore.  
  
There are bruises on my hips. Fucking git. It had hurt then. But I didn't think it'd leave a mark. I hate him.  
  
I finish undressing and head for the shower. I want a bath instead.  
  
I crawl in the empty tub. Recoil against the frozen procelain. Turn the water on. It's like ice against my skin. Hadn't been used in awhile. I could easily heat it up. A swish and flick of the wrist, some muttering in Latin. Not worth it.  
  
I sit there. Naked. Alone. Knees to chest. Watching the icy water pool around my toes. Feeling goose-bumps work their way up and down my arms. My teeth chatter. And the water level rises. Past my ankles. Climbing my calves. And up and up and up. I feel the chill against my belly and spread my legs out. Let myself slide in. Watching the water dip into my belly-button.  
  
I'm shivering and shaking but I let it keep building. Watching the water come closer and closer. Letting it engulf me. My ribs. My breasts. My shoulders. My neck.

It's too much. It's too much. It's all too much. Swallow me. Whole. Swallow me and let me slip away...  
  
I feel the water slosh against my numb lips. Taste it on my tongue. Let some slide down my throat. Cooling its way down. And it just keeps coming. The water. Taking me over. Inch by inch. Over my mouth. Up to my nose. My eyes peer out over the water. Slowly getting blurry. Eyelashes dripping wet. Not sure it's from the bath.

Swallow me...  
  
My hair floats all around me. An octopus. An ink stain. Blackness in the icy coolness. Reaching out towards me. I'm under now. Under and staring. Staring at the stopper at the bottom of the tub.  
  
Eyes are aching, lungs are burning. Bubbles escape my lips. I can't feel my toes.

Let me slip away...  
  
This is how it feels to die. To sit there. And ache and feel and let yourself fall through your own grasp. I could die. Right here. In this tub. Let myself fall down the drain. Swirl away into the unknown. Gone like yesterday.  
  
I close my eyes. Begging for air. Begging and begging and begging.  
  
What have I become? Who the fuck am I right now? What did I let you turn me into?

What am I doing...

Blurry dizzy burning blurry can't see and it hurts and aches and need to...

What am I?  
  
Not this. This isn't me. No no no no no no **_NO_**. Not me. No. I am not a girl who drowns herself in bathtub. I am not a girl who shags random boys. I am not a girl who despairs. Over you.  
  
Not anymore.  
  
I'm done.

My eyes fly open.  
  
I wrench my head up, gasping. The tub is overflowing and water has flown everywhere. From me.  
  
I'm shuddering and shaking. Shocked and relieved. And alive. Staring at the growing puddle on the tile floor around me. Watching it soak the towel I left there for me.  
  
And I'm sobbing. Alone in a flooded bathroom. Curled up in the fetal position. Waiting to return to myself.  
  
- - -  
  
I feigned sick the rest of that day. We all have our own unique wake-up calls. This one was mine.  
  
I'm done. I have thrown in the metaphorical towel. I'm walking away. From the mess I let myself become.  
  
It's easier than I thought it would be. Sometimes.  
  
I spend more time studying and even more time with Katie and Alicia. They have unknowingly become my support group. It's nice having people to just sit with. Talk to. Listen to. It's nice to be able to just sit there and discuss the most mindless things. And not care.  
  
But we never seem to reach that level of rapport that we once had…  
  
I still think of him. It's hard not. But I put him away. On a shelf. All his own. A shelf that I keep hidden and under armed guard. Hidden under a level of hostility and animosity.  
  
George, Lee and the girls have realized that they need to keep us separate. I almost ripped his throat out when he said "hi" to me.  
  
And he doesn't get it. He really doesn't. To this day, he still doesn't understand where we went wrong. I can see it in the way he gazes at me. That look. That screams of sorrow and pity and misunderstanding. That look that asks "What did I do?" and honestly not understanding the answer. Rather than making me feel sorry, it pisses me off. Pisses me off that he gets to look all victimized when he's the one that fucked up. Severely. He just walks around, smiling less. Looking confused and lost and…He looks sad. Sadder than he used to. Sadder than he's ever looked.  
  
And it doesn't suit him. At all.  
  
- - -  
  
I close the door to the locker room behind me. Stepping out into the corridor.  
  
And he's there. Waiting, it seems.  
  
He makes me want to tear my hair out. I can't handle looking at him. It makes me think of everything I have ever done to try and forget him and I feel myself drowning in shame and humiliation and embarrassment. And anger. At him.  
  
And he's looking at me. Expectantly. Nervously. Stepping on hot coals he knows might try and light him on fire.  
  
And I will. Step the wrong way and you're a pile of ash.  
  
"Hi," he croaks. And I just look at him. Incredulously. You think the little shit would have learned.  
  
I just stare. Boring my eyes into him. Searing him with my vision. Slicing his brain in half.  
  
He clears his throat. Looks down. Then up. Then down again. He's making me dizzy. "Um. Well. Yeah. Uh. Bridget and I broke up. I thought you might…like to know." Did he now…  
  
His words irritate me. His news infuriates me. He thinks I still care. He thinks I still give a fuck about him.  
  
And he's still looking at me. Sad eyes on a sad face. A sad man. Boy. Whatever the bloody hell he is anymore.  
  
I know you're not supposed to kick a dog when it's down, but he's just begging me. To force him to roll over. Sit. Stand. Play dead.  
  
"A pity." I spit the words out. Toxins on my tongue. He cringes a little. Obviously not the reaction he expected of me.

And I get it now.  
  
This is what he thinks can happen. He can leave her or she can leave him and then he's allowed to crawl back to me. I feel sick.  
  
"You sicken me." I whisper the words. And watch him do a double-take. Asking 'why?' with his sad eyes. "You think because she's gone you can have me back? You're delusional, Weasley. Fucking delusional."  
  
I start to walk away.  
  
"Angelina…wait…that's not what I meant…Angelina…listen to me. I need to…Angelina…Ange…" I hate the desperation in his voice. I hate the need that resonates with every syllable. The grief at the start of each word.  
  
I hate him for making me feel sorry for him.  
  
I don't look at him. I fear that if I do, I may go crawling back.  
  
- - -  
  
_"If we met tomorrow for the very first time  
Would it start all over again?  
Would I try to make you mine?"_  
  
- - -  
  
A/N: Song lyrics from **Simple Kind of Life – No Doubt.**  
  
Well. I apparently updated a lot quicker than I thought I would. Despite the busy weekend. Odd. But then again it is 2:47 in the morning. Which could explain why a good chunk of this is just wild thoughts. But I like it. I'm rambling. My apologies.

I wrote this entire chapter listening to the _Requiem for a Dream _Soundtrack on repeat. Which I guess explains why a portion of this is just mad suicidal thoughts. I'm afraid I've wandered into a terrible "teen cliche." It seems a bit much...but while writing, it just seemed _right. _Can't explain it. But seriously, if you read this to "Summer Overture" or "Lux Aeterna" off the CD, it's quite striking. Just what I happen to think though...and you can rarely trust the author...

Anyway...  
  
Please, please, please review. Rock my world. Make my day. Please. I feed off reviews. And I'm starving right now…


	14. A Broken Hallelujah

- - -  
  
_"Baby I've been here before  
I've seen this room and I've walked this floor  
I used to live alone before I knew you  
I've seen your flag on the marble arch  
But love is not a victory march  
It's a cold and it's a broken hallelujah…  
  
Hallelujah…hallelujah…  
  
Well there was a time when you let me know  
What's really going on below  
But now you never show that to me do you  
But remember when I moved in you  
And the holy dove was moving too  
And every breath we drew was hallelujah…  
  
Hallelujah…hallelujah…"  
_  
- - -  
  
**Chapter Thirteen: A Broken Hallelujah  
  
- Seventh Year -**  
  
It's become spring without me even realizing it.  
  
Trees have budded and the grass has grown. Flowers have sprouted from underneath layers of earth. The world is green instead of grey. Or at least that's how it's supposed to be.  
  
The sun tries to shine but the clouds fill with rain; water drips from the sky as opposed to the former ice and snow.  
  
It's funny how it all works. The more preoccupied one gets, the faster time moves.  
  
It's funny how much this year has spun out of control. I lost my grip a long while back.  
  
Quidditch. I always dreamed of making captain. But the position was far more glamorous in my head. That's the way most things work. In one's head, most things don't go to shit. But in reality they do. Fucked up little system. I didn't exactly plan on losing three of our most valuable players. Or that I'd end up with Beaters who club themselves more often than the bloody Bludgers.  
  
Umbridge. Nasty little bitch. Wreaked havoc on our Hogwarts. She's done more damage in her short period here than the two of them could dream of. But they were amusing. She, not so much. High Inquisitor, my arse.  
  
N.E.W.T.'s. They say they'll be here before I know it. I think they may be right this time. And I'm actually trying. Studying. Preparing. Plotting the points to a future I can't quite figure. The mystery of tomorrow. My weeks are numbered. And I still don't know what I want to do. With my life. For a living. That frightens me a bit. I was supposed to let McGonagall know years back what my plan was. Auror. Healer. Ministry Official. Charm Breaker. Professional Quidditch Player. They think that's what I'll do. I might not just to spite them all. Too many choices, and none of them appealing. They say I'll figure it out, that it'll all just come to me. Naturally. I think they might be wrong.  
  
And…And there's been him. Fred. So many twists and turns. Taken at break-neck speeds. Enough to give you whiplash. And leave you a little queasy.  
  
I loved him once. I can say that confidently now. I loved him once. I know this. I loved him. I let him consume me, take me over. I let him be that parasite that ruined me from the inside. I let him be…my everything. And a boy is not supposed to be that. I know now that it can't end well.  
  
But I loved him. I loved the way he'd make me feel just by brushing up against me. The electricity, the magic. The odd tingle in the air. Made my hair stand on end. The way he would look at me. That knowing smile, those curious eyes. They way he'd look me over. Raking eyes over my body. Peering into my soul. The way he'd tell a story. Or craft a master plan. That frown, those wrinkles. The sign of concentration. I loved his arching eyebrows. I loved the comfort of his hands. His laugh. His freckles. His infectious disposition. Yes. I loved him.  
  
And I watched him throw it all away.  
  
We lost control awhile back. Drove straight off the road. Now we're lying in a ditch. The engine still sputtering on.  
  
I'm tired of trying to unlock the doors and escape this massive wreck.  
  
- - -  
  
The silence between us is deafening. Screaming and shouting and yelling obscenities. He must hear this. He has to. I can. And I'm going fucking mad.  
  
I keep on hearing his voice in my head. Looping over and over and over again. That desperate tone. Him just wanting to talk and me just walking away. He steps forward. I leap back. He opens his mouth. I shut my ears.  
  
It's been this way for quite some time now. This odd dance we've created. This rhythm, this beat. We unconsciously move to.  
  
I sit there. Twirling the quill between two fingers. Eyes fixated on the wall behind his shoulder. He sits there. Rubbing his head. Elbows on the table. That's supposed to be rude. But I'm not sure if that only applies at mealtime.  
  
They left us here a half hour ago. Thirty bloody minutes. This their subtle approach to get us talking again. It's been silence since they left.  
  
Our silent melody. That we dance to. That we've been dancing to. My feet are tired and need a rest but we just keep on twirling. And stepping in time to the beat. Not a waltz. A tango. A slow and mournful rhythm. Almost erotic. Almost too passionate. The two of us. Toying with one another. Igniting a fury smothered deep within. We'll catch fire. Put it out. And start up all over again.  
  
That's just how it works.  
  
We're highly flammable. We should be kept apart.  
  
- - -  
  
I hate the locker room.  
  
I can hear the ghosts of our former selves echoing across the ceiling. I can see us. In the act. Hear us. Arguing with one another. Watch us. Fall apart.  
  
We have a match today. I don't wish to think about it. My world went to pieces and so did the team. Everything just has to parallel.  
  
I ran into him in the hall today. Literally. Smack dab. Books flying. Parchment crinkling. It was embarrassing to say the least. Especially since no words were exchanged. I hate this. I hate seeing him.  
  
I'm over him. Yes. I am. No longer self-destructive and hysterical. No longer weeping through the night and letting my moods swing through out the day. But still. It hurts to look at him.  
  
I convince myself that I'm okay. But then I just fall right back down.  
  
I'm tired of this game. This song. This dance. This story.  
  
It's hard. Trying to propel yourself forward when you're at the same time pulling yourself back. It's hard to look back at memories you wish were the present rather than the past. It's just hard. Harder than I ever thought it would be.  
  
I miss him. And our blissfully ignorant days. Our secret trysts and that strange chemistry we shared. I've caught his eye in the hall before. Caught that earnest look that crosses his face when he realizes that it's him I'm looking at. Makes me think he misses me too.  
  
But I apparently suck at reading signals. Could be a different emotion he's feeling altogether.  
  
George asked me about him the other day. Asked what happened between the two of us. I told him it was none of his bloody business and I'd love it if he'd just sod off. He frowned at that. And asked me again. Because he's 'concerned.' Because Fred's not the way he used to be. And he's sick of him moping around their room. Especially with what they might have coming up.  
  
I sighed and walked away. The twins and their pranks. It used to amuse me. Really. It did. It was a part of their personality. Now… Now it's just kind of sad. They're adults. Fucking adults. Or almost. Yet they play games that even children get bored with. They play games. With people. And those people get hurt. And it's not funny anymore. It's hard to laugh when you're in pain.  
  
I didn't tell him this. He wouldn't understand. He's not too emotionally perceptive. Either is his mirror image.  
  
I hear the door creaking. The sound of footsteps. Voices and laughter. Here they come.  
  
I swing my locker door open with a satisfying bang.  
  
- - -  
  
Tired, I trudge off the field. Muddy. Dizzy. Sore.  
  
I watch my feet leave marks in the dewy grass. My trail back inside.  
  
I turn. Heading towards the arch. The giant stone arch leading back in from the Quidditch pitch.  
  
My wet shoes slap against the stone floor. I look up. And he's there. Materialized out of thin air, most likely. He's a magician not a wizard.  
  
I fix him with a look. A stare. A withering expression. Screaming of how sick of this I am.  
  
I walk. Preparing to pass him and continue along my way. Continue along with my life.  
  
He grabs my arm. I shrink away. The rhythm getting stronger. The tempo picking up. His hands feel rough against my skin. I want to pry his fingers off.  
  
I hear him swallow. Watch him try and make eye contact with me. It seems to be quite the struggle. I understand. And hate that I know how he feels.  
  
He loosens his grip and clears his throat. "I want to talk." He's never talked to me like this. Serious. Gravelly. Devoid of humor. I don't like it.

He wants to talk.  
  
This can't end well.  
  
I grit my teeth and turn away. Fully aware that he's still holding my arm.  
  
"Please…" The desperation has returned. I wonder if he knows what that does to me. How that simple tone of his voice makes me hurt and ache and feel guilty and shameful and sad and angry and…  
  
I wrench my arm out of his grasp. I can't do this. I promised myself. No. No. No. There is no fucking way I'm doing this again. I'm backing away…  
  
He reaches an arm out. Then drops it. "Look. Angelina. Listen. I know…you hate me. And…I'm sure I deserve it. But, please. Give me…fuck, five minutes. Okay? Five bloody minutes? And then…then we never have to talk again."  
  
He looks at me. Waiting for affirmation. His cue to carry on. Get the words off his chest that have apparently been weighing him down.  
  
I nod. Wondering if I'll regret this later.  
  
He draws in a breath. I can smell his fear. "Okay…Okay. I - - I know that I fucked up. That I was terrible. That…that I treated you like shit. I get that. And - - and that things happened that should _never_ have happened. And…I'm sorry. Merlin, I'm sorry. I'm really and truly sorry. And – and – and I haven't been honest with you. Not at all. From… the beginning… up until…now."  
  
He's breathing heavily now. So pale. So scared. I want to help him. No. I don't. Maybe..._No_.  
  
"You scare me, Angelina. You fucking terrify me. And – and I was…scared. Of you. Of…you and me. Because…well…fuck, I can't do this. I can't…explain. It's too hard." His eyes shoot up. Meeting mine. The intensity unnerves me. "It's always been you." Stop. Stop. Please. Stop whispering. "It's always been about you. And…that scares me. A lot."  
  
He pauses. He makes me dizzy and me makes me sick. He makes me forget today and tomorrow. And the past. But only for a little while...

And I remember. And have to ask.  
  
"And Bridget?"  
  
He looks confused. For a second. And sighs. Angrily. Loudly. "Bridget…" He shakes his head. Holds a hand to his forehead. "Isn't you. And never will be." I don't get it. And he knows this. "You told me you loved me. You said it, Angelina. And I freaked out. I know. I'm a stupid, useless, bloody wanker. I panicked. And pounced on the first girl I was mildly attracted to. I had to. I had to forget about you…"  
  
I hate this. We sound like a bloody Muggle soap opera. The bad guy admitting his motive. Proving he's not that terrible after all. Then shoots the heroine through the chest. I'm waiting.

Bang. Bang.  
  
"It didn't work," he whispers. Sending chills down my spine. I curse myself for this. "You were still there. And you hated me. And it hurt, Ange. It fucking hurt. I – I didn't mean for it to turn out like this. And I'm sorry. Ange, I'm so fucking sorry. And, well, I, well…"  
  
And then he said them. The Words.  
  
He said them softly; softly, the words that were to change everything. Softly, so only I could hear, so softly I felt inclined to lean my head towards his. But they echoed and bounced, resonated off stone walls, creating their own boisterous cacophony inside my already cloudy head. They were words, too loud, ruffling my hair and making my ears bleed and my heart ache.  
  
He said them once.  
  
Only once.  
  
"I love you."  
  
Whispered words, tip-toeing, trying to break down the wall with the mallet I relinquished long ago.  
  
- - -  
  
_"Well, maybe there's a god above  
But all I've ever learned from love  
Was how to shoot somebody who outdrew you  
It's not a cry that you hear at night  
It's not somebody who's seen the light  
It's a cold and it's a broken hallelujah…  
  
Hallelujah…hallelujah…"_  
  
- - -  
  
A/N: Song lyrics from **Hallelujah – Jeff Buckley.**  
  
Another update! I am quite proud. Well…yes. I left you with a cliffhanger. My apologies. Three chapters left…I'm quite excited to finish this. I hope to have it completed by next Friday. I'm keeping my fingers crossed.  
  
Thank you for the reviews. I am so amazed that you guys like this story so much. It really makes me happy. So please. Do repeat. And leave me some more stuff to read!


	15. Just Two Friends in Lust

- - -  
  
_"Now she's staring wide-eyed  
Can't close her eyes…"_  
  
- - -  
  
**Chapter Fourteen: Just Two Friends in Lust  
  
- Seventh Year -**  
  
I stare. Gape. Let him feel my eyes bore into his. Letting him feel the gravity of the sounds that he just made. He loves me. He loves me. He l_oves_ me. He loves _me.  
_  
I stare. Hating him and wanting him and hating and wanting and hating and wanting and loving and hating…  
  
It'd be so easy to say it back. "I love you, too." Say it and watch the grin creep across his face, his cheeks color, his posture sharpen. Watch him walk to me and grab me and hold me and kiss me. Love me. It'd be so easy. So easy. Too easy.  
  
I want to drop the past. Shed it. And leave it. Watch it fall down that pitch black well. Hear the resounding splash. But the water down there is cold. And frighteningly familiar. Cold. And wet. And crawling towards the top.  
  
I see porcelain tubs and flooded bathrooms. An abandoned tower and boxer-clad boys. I see nights alone and sad red eyes. I see anger and resentment; rejection and denial. I see her and I see him. I see me. Alone. Crying. Broken. Shattered. And him just walking away. I see damage that has been done. And wonder if words are enough to fix it.  
  
It isn't fair.  
  
_It's never fair…_  
  
I'm staring. Staring at that blank spot behind him. The spot where the trees reach the sky and paint a pretty picture. I'm staring without seeing it. I'm staring. White flowers on the floor. Empty dinner plates. Locker rooms and cluttered broom closets. Fire-whiskey. Leather sofas. Stone corridors. Confrontations Ravenclaws Blonde girls closed drapes sticky sheets lonely mornings empty bed chest aching pulse rising leering smirks blank gazes…apologetic words.  
  
Sometimes 'sorry' just isn't enough.  
  
I hurt. I ached. I made myself sick. Drove myself mad. Humiliated myself. Debased myself. Nearly killed myself in a fucking bathtub. While he turned a blind eye. And now…now…  
  
He gets to crawl back with hopeful, burning eyes using words I keep under armed guarded in a steel safe hidden beneath my soul.  
  
He thinks a five minute conversation will make it better. Five minutes can't mend five months, though. Even here. In a world full of magic.  
  
_"I love you."_  
  
You're not supposed to hurt the object of your love…So how did I end up ripped to shreds?

_None of this is real. Nothing was real. It's not happening and not real and love isn't real. No. There was no love. _  
  
I can't do this… I can't do it.  
  
He's waiting. And the silence I've given him is painful. Bone-crushingly so. I open my mouth. Not sure what comes next. Speaking out of truth rather than logic.

_Just breathe. _  
  
He looks so hopeful. And at the same time so certain. He thinks he's saved the day. Turned my life around. Just because of those three words.  
  
It's not fair.  
  
And he needs to know this.  
  
"You can't just…do that. You, you can't just…find me, and – and tell me…_that_…and tell me those words and – and…expect me to crumble and fall at your…feet and…let _you_ pick me back up. Again." Courage comes as time passes. Volume increases as anger intensifies. The past won't let me go. Won't let me forget. The way he made me feel. The way he made me act. "I'm sorry too, Fred. I'm really fucking sorry. You lost me. You lost me somewhere between my…drunken c-confession…and your…bloody Bridget. You don't know how much you hurt me, Fred. How much it fucking _killed_ to see you with her and watch you with her and more than anything wish that it was…me. Me that you wanted. Loved." I swallow. I want the lump to go away. I want my eyes to dry. "I let you break me once. But…I-I learn from my mistakes." I pause, my voice quiet once again. "I thought that I loved you. I thought that you could love me. I was wrong. Jumped to the wrong conclusions. There was no love. Just sex. A heightened form of lust. Not love." No love no love no love no love. No, love. "I'm sorry. I'm not going to do it again. I _can't_ do it again. Not…with…you."  
  
I finally look at him. And I have to turn away. I can see the hurt, the pain, the grief. I've been there before. I've been there. Wrestled with the pain that comes with rejection. And maybe that's what this is all about. Retaliation. I pray it's not.  
  
I look at him. Wondering if it's the last time. I want to memorize the way he looks. No. The way he _looked_. This isn't the Fred I came to love. This isn't him. This broken shell of a…man. Somewhere along the line he crossed over that line. No longer a boy. Now a man.  
  
A man who looks as though he could cry.  
  
We lock eyes. And I know I have to get out of here. Run. "I'm done." It's my own whisper. Telling him to leave. Telling him I'm gone.  
  
I don't wait. I don't want to hear any pleas, any begging. I turn away. And he remains silent.  
  
I walk away. Away from the boy who was once my world. A silly boy whose kisses turned my knees into silly putty and made my heart do death-defying gymnastics. A boy that made me want romances in the rain and a comforting hand to hold. A boy whose laugh made me want to leap and whose smile made me weak.  
  
That's not him anymore.  
  
When you find the worst in someone that's suddenly all you can see. Ugliness. The spark is extinguished. The thrill has subsided. They become human again.  
  
I helped make him a mere mortal. I think I doused the twinkle in his eye, the spring in his step. I helped make him a man. A man who apologizes and uses words like "love."  
  
And means it, too.  
  
- - -  
  
I didn't sleep that night. Guilt does terrible things to a person.  
  
I treated him the way he had treated me.  
  
_No, no you didn't. You let that ignorant arsehole know what was going on. He deserved it.  
_  
A convincing argument. I still felt like shit. Felt. Possibly a key word.  
  
It's a sunny day. A warm day. Unseasonably so.  
  
I should be studying. N.E.W.T.'s are inching closer and closer. Soon they'll be tapping me on the shoulder, scaring the shit out of me.  
  
The book is open at least. Which book that is…I'm not quite sure. It is on page 261 though.  
  
I haven't seen anyone today. It's Saturday. I didn't go to breakfast. I saw the sun rising and immediately headed outside. Taking off my shoes and ignoring the wetness of the grass as the blades stuck to my feet.  
  
I don't know how long I've been out here. I do know every time I try to think I see him. And feel my heart constrict and shame envelope me. A suffocating blanket. That's slowly becoming looser.  
  
I fall back. The sun blinding me. I put a hand up to block it. Watching it glow with the brilliant star as its backdrop.  
  
I feel guilty and I feel light. So light. Light enough to float away. Float like a feather and never touch the ground. Wind my way through space and time.  
  
He knows. Everything. He knows. I'm in the open. On display. I already let him pick me apart. And now he's seen what's left. The bones and the waste. It's so liberating.  
  
There's nothing left between us.  
  
A tear is trickling. Falling onto the grass.  
  
And I laugh. Laugh at myself. Laugh at him. Laugh at the kids we once were. Laugh until my ribs hurt. Thinking of everything. Train rides and Quidditch practices. Trips to the kitchen, to Hogsmeade, the Burrow. Late-night study sessions and Common Room trysts. Practical jokes and back-firing pranks. Long-winded tales and witty repartee. Us at eleven. Us at seventeen. Us everywhere in between.  
  
Memories do funny things to a person.  
  
I'm lying there in the grass. Middle of the afternoon. Middle of the morning. Middle of the night. Middle of nowhere. And I'm laughing and crying and have never felt so right.  
  
I'm going to be okay.  
  
We might be okay.  
  
He'll be there tomorrow. And the next day. And the week after that. And there's time.  
  
For once, time is on our side.  
  
- - -  
  
My world feels oddly quiet.  
  
I have only now just crawled into bed. Pulled the covers up to my chin. Laying there. Hands at my side. Lying still. Still as a corpse. A guest at my own funeral. Afraid to break the silence and have things come crashing down around me.  
  
I inhale. Sigh. And close my eyes.  
  
Feeling nothing.  
  
For the first time in months, I slept until morning.  
  
- - -  
  
_"Yeah, they were just two fucks in lust  
Baby, that just don't mean much  
You trained me not to love  
After you taught me what it was…"_  
  
- - -  
  
A/N: Song lyrics from** Meet Me in the Bathroom – The Strokes.  
**  
Kind of a short chapter…I know. That's just the way it goes.  
  
Two more chapters…tear I'm excited though. To get this in the can.  
  
Thank you for the trillionth time. The reviews really help. Honestly. Truthfully. I love you guys for letting me know what you think. So, please. You know the system: Read and Review!


	16. Another Highway

  
  
_"I've stopped my rambling,  
I don't do too much gambling  
These days, these days  
These days I seem to think about  
How all the changes came about my ways  
And I wonder if I'll see another highway…"_

  
**Chapter Fifteen: Another Highway  
  
- Seventh Year -  
**  
They call it the calm before the storm. Apparently that's when everything gets all relaxed. It deceives you. Lets you believe that things may just turn out okay and everything can be fine and free and breezy. While at the same time, knowing. Knowing that none of this could possibly last, and you're left wondering how much time you've got before it all just goes to hell.  
  
I can feel a tempest brewing. I don't want to be washed away.

_( ) ( )_

I've come to grips. Shed the idealistic girl I once was. Adopted the skin of a mature woman. I have been rejected. I have been scorned. I have become increasingly melodramatic. That's what madness does.  
  
I'm sitting. Sipping. On the cup of tea that burns my hand. We're in the Common Room. And by we I mean Katie, Alicia and I. Somehow we became the Three Musketeers. The swordsmen, not the candy bar.  
  
I have yet to tell them about Fred.  
  
They're so honest with me. Telling me everything. Stuff I honestly have no desire to hear. I don't care what the Hufflepuff could do with his tongue, or how shockingly experienced he was considering he's only a fourth year. Katie always was the cradle-robbing thief.  
  
But I can't bring myself to open my mouth and let the truth fall out and let them hear and judge and assume and scold. In retrospect, I was a fool. A royal fool. A class fool. A fool who let love get in the way of friendship and who let feelings cloud her already blurry judgment. I've berated myself enough over it. I don't need them to join the club. I don't think they could afford the membership fees.  
  
But it's funny. Funny how them not knowing isolates them from me. Me from them. Us from each other. They're still carefree. Still dreaming of romps through the daisies and men that get down on one knee. I'm jaded. Sad. Cynical. Wondering where we went wrong and why I won't let him back in.  
  
He looks the same as me now.  
  
I see myself reflected back. Every time I catch his eye. He has my eyes now. Murky. Dark. Alone. I can see myself smirking back. The me that's lost and forgotten how to gain. Reminding me that he deserves this. He slouches now and gazes off into space. I'm afraid of what he thinks of. What it is that he's dreaming of. What it is he expects from me.  
  
To take him back.  
  
And I'm tempted. I really am. I see him and his rounded shoulders. I see him without the smile. Without that sparkle the magic the boy that was him. And I want to take him and grab him and tell him I'm sorry and that I forgive him and love him and want to be with him and yes, I love you, too and just stay with me and promise me that nothing bad ever happened.  
  
But memory's a bitch.  
  
Some wounds are too fresh and no matter how hard you try to heal them, they still burn. Still ache. Still sting and bleed. I'm in pain here. Still. I may sleep at night and smile through the day. I talk and laugh and no longer appear comatose. One small step for man, one giant leap for mankind. But. But there's still that dull throbbing, that ache that no one sees. What it means to be burned, scorched, set on fire by another. And have them walk away. And let you be engulfed by their flames.  
  
Wounds don't heal that quickly.  
  
And I want for him to quit trying. He's no doctor and his medicine is faulty and making me hurt all the more.

_( ) ( )_  
  
I think I've become a loner.  
  
It's strange. It's strange how traveling through the whole color wheel of emotions and hitting rock bottom and climbing back out again changes a person. Not for the better. Or for the worse. But just different.  
  
I came out the rabbit hole on the other side. It's slightly darker here.  
  
I once believed I had it all figured out. That I knew where I was going and who I was and the person I wanted to be. Somewhere that fell to bloody pieces.  
  
I think I'm a lost soul. A tired, lost soul. A tired, lost soul who has forgotten what it means to feel.  
  
I'm afraid to risk it. Again. I'm afraid to talk to him. Wait for the inevitable to spring up between us. I'm afraid of him. I'm afraid of Fred Weasley.  
  
Pathetic really.  
  
I let him fuck me up. And now I'm running scared. Not sure where I'm running to. But the gun's gone off, and we're deep in the woods now.  
  
I'm walking back to the tower. No one asks me where I go anymore. Some think it's Quidditch work. Others, studying for N.E.W.T.'s. There's the few that think I'm smoking pot, the random couple that started the rumor I'm shooting up heroin. And then there's the majority who believe I'm having some secret, illicit affair.  
  
They're a few months behind on that one.  
  
"Huckleberry jam." And I'm through the portrait hole. Coming out the other side. The Fat Lady rambling on. She annoys me. Not sure why. All the portraits, and we get her. To guard us while we sleep.  
  
The common room is slightly crowded. A lot of last minute studying and exploding snap. And he's here. With his brother. George and him crafting plans, it appears. Hidden in the corner. Whispering and gesticulating. Hands in the air, surreptitious glances over shoulder. He looks more excited than I've seen in days. Weeks, maybe. Not that I've been watching. Or anything. I'm just observant, is all.  
  
They're up to no good. Par usual. And I want to laugh. Laugh until my sides split and my head rolls off its shoulders and my face is soaked with tears. Laugh like I haven't laughed in what seems like years. I want to laugh at the familiarity of it all. Laugh because this is how things are supposed to be. Him making plans with his accomplice and us laughing at him in the process. Warning them of their imminent doom amid chuckles and squawks and guffaws.  
  
But I remain silent. Stock still.  
  
I'm staring. And I really don't give a fuck.

_( ) ( )_  
  
I got to breakfast early today. Not sure why. But lying in bed was driving me mad and the sunlight was coming through the window in this certain way. It was impossible to keep still.  
  
I get that way sometimes. Agitated. Anxious. Nervous for no reason other than all the crazy little thoughts that flit through my head.  
  
Trying to clear your mind is bullshit. There seriously is no possible way to erase everything that muddled it up in the first place. Erasers don't work that way. And even when they do wipe it all away, you're still stuck with the remains. The ugly grey smear across the page. And the odd little rubber shavings that stick to your arms.  
  
I can't remember the last time I was thinking clearly.  
  
I know I must look crazy now. Sitting alone at the huge long table. The Gryffindor table. I have yet to understand why I was placed here. I'm not brave. Courage and idiocy often get confused. I've never done anything noble. Or worthy of admiration. I've acted on impulse. Forced open doors that were locked for good reason. Curiosity and stupidity shouldn't earn one a place at one of the more exalted tables. They say the Sorting Hat never makes a mistake.  
  
Maybe I was its first.  
  
Gryffindors don't resign themselves. Decide they'll let themselves get swept up in the tide of things. Not fight what fate has in store for them. I don't think they curl up in a ball and cry when things get ugly. Things should make sense. Life should have a reason. People should have a purpose. Right now, none of that's true. I am lost. I want to leave, but I long to stay. Leaving means I'm gone from here. The past can become that shadow. This building here, a relic. But I don't know where I'll go. I don't know what I'll do. I'll be a wanderer. A nomad. A nobody. But if I stay. I stay and live among the memories that haunt my every step. I live with him. His face. The state I've placed him in. But I'll have a home and a warm bed to sleep in. Three square meals a day.  
  
In-between is no place to be. But somehow it's become my world.  
  
I hear footsteps. Echoing across the tiled floor. I never noticed how shiny that floor is. How you can see the ceiling reflected back. In each of the glossy tiles.  
  
They're coming closer. Heavy thuds. A man not a woman. A man not a boy. Pounding the pavement, the tile, beneath his feet.  
  
No one comes to breakfast this early.  
  
There's nothing here to eat.  
  
And I know who it is. Before I even see him.  
  
Him.  
  
It's always him.  
  
He freezes when he sees me. Blanches. Noticeably. I'm not supposed to be here. Either. We're not supposed to be here. We shouldn't even exist.  
  
I'm biting my lip and willing myself to look. Look. At him. Look and see. What it means to try and right one's life. Right it and make it wrong.  
  
He's just looking at me. I can see the options. Dancing through his heads. Cut and run. Pretend this never happened. Or stay and beg and plead. And yell. Fight. Argue. Scream. Wait for me to say no. Again.  
  
He chooses the former.  
  
Fred Weasley never was a stupid boy.

_( ) ( )_  
  
I walked away. He walked away. And I'm not sure where each of us traveled to.  
  
There's always tomorrow. There's always tomorrow. Tomorrow is another day. Tomorrow never comes. I'm looking to tomorrow. I've given up on living for the present. I let the present get all kinds of fucked up. But tomorrow still looks good. Promising. The grass is always greener on the other side. Or so they say. But I quit trusting them a while ago. They'll have to do a bit more than discuss landscaping to earn my trust again.  
  
There's always tomorrow.

_( ) ( )_  
  
I'm in the library. Reading up on Charms. I'm nervous for the exam. Charms has never been my strong point. Lately, everything's been weak.  
  
I'm waiting for Madam Pince to kick me out. I've been here a while. And she hates nothing more than a loiter. Especially when her shift is up. Dim the lanterns and lock the doors.  
  
I look over my stack of books. And he's found his way to me. Again. Maybe he's not as smart as I thought he was.  
  
I just look. Repress any cutting remark that may find its way to my tongue. I've done enough verbal damage.  
  
He attempts a smile. He looks like his teeth are being pulled out. His smile would send children into hysterics. Make old women cry. His smile makes me want to die.  
  
"Hey," he mutters. He's muttering. Fred Weasley doesn't believe in low decibel levels.  
  
I just nod. Words and me don't get along. And he makes it so hard to speak. Too hard. And not worth it.  
  
He's nodding too. And not stopping. Kind of bopping his head. As he glances around. The darkened bookshelves. And dusty tomes. And me. I'm aged too.  
  
He finally catches my eye. And his eyes are burning, blazing, on fire. My chest hurts. I wonder if this is how a heart attack feels. I hope not. But it's pressing down on me, and my sternum will surely crack.  
  
"Fred, why are you here?"  
  
He looks at me. Like I'm the crazy one here.  
  
"I…I need to try. One last time. I just need to…try." I know where this is going. But doubt that I'll be able to stop him.  
  
"Fred…"  
  
"No. No. Listen, listen to me. I can't do this anymore. I can't - - be here anymore. Not like this. I'm going fucking mad. Ange, I'm sorry. I am so bloody sorry it makes me sick. And – and, I just don't…get…why you won't have me back."  
  
I want to tell him. I want to tell him I've been here before. Traveled over the map and filled in all the little points. I laid the bricks he's walking on right now. It hurts. But so did I.  
  
I need to get out. I need to escape everything. Everything that has shaped me into this person I've unwittingly, and unwillingly, become.  
  
He's not going to carry me out of here.  
  
I look at him. And watch his spirits fall.  
  
"I'm sorry," I whisper. Knowing the words mean nothing.  
  
He nods. Not speaking. I know what it feels like to try to speak. Try to speak when your throat is full of tears.  
  
I know.

_( ) ( )_  
  
Walking back, I wonder. Wonder if I did right. Know that I did wrong.  
  
_I just need time. Time._  
  
I find him in the Common Room. With George and Lee. Lee has his arms crossed over his chest. Shaking his head. Letting his dreads swing through the air. Telling the twins in front of him. Telling them how he thinks it's a bad idea and how it will surely get them kicked out.  
  
I wonder what the idea is.  
  
"What if that's exactly what we want?" George has the sly, Weasley grin bestowed on his lips.  
  
"We've got nothing left to stay for." Fred. He watches me while he says those words. I catch his meaning. And the drop in my stomach.  
  
He's got nothing left to stay for. Guess that includes me.  
  
He's not going to give me time.

_( ) ( )_  
  
They do it. The swamp. Make Umbridge shriek and shout and Filch dance with glee.  
  
Apparently they're supposed to be whipped. I don't believe it'll happen. They're crafty boys. And this woman must have forgotten that.  
  
They give a speech. Surrounded by peers. And me. And call for their brooms. And amid the noise, the confusion. The shouting. Cheering. Jeering. Yelling. They mount and kick off.  
  
They fly away. He flies away. Up and out the window. Up and out the castle. Up and out. Out. Of me.  
  
Alicia and Katie and Lee. All jumping for joy. Like it's bloody Christmas. I'm standing still. Rooted to the spot. Among a crowd in motion.  
  
He left me.

_( ) ( )_  
  
There's always tomorrow.  
  
The mantra that has tided me over for the last couple days that have felt like years. That has tided me over every day since yesterday. Tomorrow. We can fix things. Tomorrow. But tomorrow's not going to come. For us. The sun has set. Set as he jumped up and flew away. Flew off into the setting sun. The blood-red sun. The sun set the color to match his head. And the color of my heart.  
  
There's always tomorrow. Unless it's already come and gone.

_( ) ( )_  
  
_"I had a lover,  
I don't think I'll risk another  
These days, these days  
And if I seem to be afraid  
To live the life that I have made in song  
It's just that I've been losing so long…"_

_( ) ( )  
_  
A/N: Song lyrics from** These Days – Nico  
**  
I apologize for the delay in updating. I just moved into my dorm room a few days ago, and the days before that were all crazy, emotional packing days. And classes have just begun, so I've been insanely busy lately. But I hope you enjoy this installment. And I'm almost positive the epilogue will be next, but I may decide to throw in an extra chapter before that. We'll see. But thanks for all the amazing reviews. Y'all are too good to me. Please continue reading and do review!


	17. Epilogue

_

* * *

_

_"Made off  
Don't stray  
My kind's your kind  
I'll stay the same  
  
Pack up  
Don't stray..."_

* * *

**Epilogue**

**- Seventh Year -**

I'm sitting here. In the dark. On the couch.

The fire is still fighting strong.

I've been here all night. The sun should rise in minutes now. But I've been saying that for the past half hour.

Loneliness has its limits.

I've spent this entire night. Sitting here. Thinking. Remembering. Recapping. Traveling down a memory lane that has managed to become littered by painful memories of the past.

Things used to feel so right. Him. Me. The strange dynamic we shared. I didn't think things like that just fizzled. But maybe that is what they do. They explode and evaporate. Leaving you with a bunch of sooty remains. And a charred chemistry set.

I'm tired of stepping on pieces of broken glass.

But at the same time...My heart still gets that funny, clamped up feeling. Every time I think of him. He makes me so angry and so frustrated. Bitter. Resentful. Sad. But now. Now I can only seem to think of days. Days when he made me...smile. Laugh. Blush. Act the woman I was born to be.

Somewhere along the way everything became a mess. A train wreck. A bubbling cauldron of gunk threatening to take us over. And we let it.

Sitting here. Sitting here it's all clear. Illuminated by the past and glowing with the present.

The present's not so pretty anymore.

Somewhere along the way it quit being about sex. And became something else entirely. A game of dirty politics, a battle to save one's soul. A conquest to capture the other's.

We made it possible for both of us to lose.

He made me do things and feel things and think things I never should have. He was insensitive. Oblivious. And blind. He was immature. Juvenile. Sophomoric. But he made me laugh. And more often than not made me cry. And need. And want.

And love.

It's beautiful and awful and terrifying to recognize a situation for what it really is. To uncover buried emotions and secret feelings. To say their names, even if in solitude. In a dark room with only thoughts and fears and memories for company.

I've never felt so alone.

Even in those days. Those days I remained silent and he remained pitiful. Those days I shut him down. Turned my back on him. I still knew he was standing there. Watching. Waiting.

Somehow abandonment makes everything a bit too clear...

I'm sitting here. Sitting in a dark room. Still waiting for the sun to rise. Sitting here. Feeling the beginnings of tears pricking at my eyes. I'm trying to think happy thoughts. But I think I'm finally out.

Regret is an ugly emotion.

Love is an ugly emotion.

Love. I managed to learn a lesson about love. And there was no bright enlightenment, no moment when I said, "Oh, that makes perfect sense." Instead I managed to confuse myself and lose myself. In a swirling whirlpool of emotion. Love's not pretty. And when you try to make it just that, when you go around believing that. You're only setting yourself up for disappointment. Love doesn't work the way we grow up believing it's supposed to. He won't rescue you. He won't save you. He may ruin you and destroy you and make you want to die. But in the end...in the end...

You'll still want him. And maybe even still love him.

And I do.

I love him. I love Fred. I love you.

It's easier than it seems to let those words ring out through my head. It's harder than it seems to actually say them. But it took this. A year or more of shagging. Rejection. Refusal. Regret. And eventually redemption. It took it all. To see this. I do love him and need him and I'm sorry and I want you back here with me and I'm sorry and I love you. I love you, too.

I'm sick and sad. I can feel a few tears slipping down my cheeks. I bat them angrily away. I'm not like that anymore.

Impulsively, I grab a piece of parchment off the side table. Along with a random misplaced quill.

_"Dear Fred,"_

And I pause. Staring at my handwriting until my eyes glaze over. Until the two words merge into one, blurring and shaking and out of focus.

And realize I can't do this. I don't know how to do this. Put into words everything I just realized. Everything it took all shit for me to learn. You can't put that into a letter. You can't write emotions like that.

I twirl the quill between my fingers. And think.

_"Dear Fred."_

I crumble the parchment into a ball. And toss it into the licking flames before me.

I'm not ready yet.

* * *

The year is over. Hogwarts, for me, is over.

And I'm back here. Back at 9 and ¾. Feeling like I was just here. Dragging a trunk the size of me down the sooty walk.

I'm here. Wishing I was eleven again. When things were still in black and white. Somehow my life has become clad in grey.

I gaze across the crowded platform. Attempting to see past the hugs and greetings. The rapid chit-chat to my right. The squeezing cheeks to my left.

And there he is.

Hair red as ever, silly grin bestowing his freckled face. There he is. And wearing what I can only call the ugliest suit I have ever seen. But it's him. Here. My strange little oasis in the desert of my life.

He's here.

And I want to scream and yell and tumble and flip. I'm sure my heart could just burst any second, shooting rainbows and stars across the way. The joy, the relief. It's killing me. And then, I want to cry and let myself fall, collapse on the dirty floor and bawl my eyes out. Cry until I can't see, can't hear. Can't breathe.

It's him.

He's real and we're real and what we had is real.

He doesn't see me. But that's okay.

I take a step towards him. Then another. Watching the distance between us shrink.

He's here.

I catch his eye. I catch his eye and sense the hope. And my feet continue forward.

He's here. He's real.

What we have is real.

I'm ready now...

* * *

_"Wait, they don't love you like I love you..."_

* * *

A/N: Song lyrics from **Maps – Yeah Yeah Yeahs**

It breaks my heart...I'm done. The story is completed. It's all gone full circle. And for once I have a story that has a beginning, middle and end. I'm proud.

I want to thank each and everyone of you that took the time to read this and took even more time to let me know what you thought about it. You guys are so awesome, it's unbelievable. But thank you for sticking with me. And for enjoying what I wrote. I love you all to pieces. And when you are whole.

Eventually, I think I'm going to go back through this story and edit, again, and revise. Add some stuff I wish I had put in. Cut out the stuff I didn't like first time around. But that won't be for a while. For now though..._Fear and Loathing in Romania_. Yeah. It's my Everest. Come check it out and watch me try to climb it.

Thank you all, and I'm really going to miss writing this story...


End file.
